


It's Been A While, When Will You Be Home?

by BloodAndRosesBitch



Category: Two Guys a Girl and a Pizza Place
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Panic Attacks, Porn with Feelings, and both pete and berg are fools in love, but stuff doesn't make sense if you don't read the other chapters, pete is helplessly repressed, porn starts in chapter five
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26841802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodAndRosesBitch/pseuds/BloodAndRosesBitch
Summary: Berg seems off lately, and Pete can see it even if his best friend attempts in every way possible to deny it. He's determined to help Berg get back on track, even if it means confronting some of his own denial. What can Pete say? He misses his definitely only best friend, not at all long time secret (even from himself!) love interest. A lot.
Relationships: Michael Bergen/Pete Dunville
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Sometimes God doesn't close or open a door, he just leaves it partially open

Pete had never been inside of Berg's room before. There wasn't much to it. It came with their easy friendship. He hadn't thought about it a lot, if at all, until now. It was the only thing on his mind now. Lingering at the doorway, the door just a crack open, letting the fading sunlight in. He could tell Berg didn't have the light on. There was something about Berg's heart that really ached, fully and purely. Right now. Today. This moment. Pete could feel it in silence. He wanted to go in there and comfort Berg, or something, anything at all. He wanted to make sure Berg was okay, make sure that he'd eaten dinner that night- Pete had gotten home late, so they hadn't eaten together for the first time in years- make sure he wasn't drunk and passed out on the floor or high out of his mind or something like that.

And yet there was some reason that got in the way of him stepping inside his best friend's room. 

_It's silly,_ he thought. _Berg is smart._ He would know that sadness can't last forever. He would know that madness can't last forever. He would know his world would tilt back into position eventually.

Pete lifted his hand to knock on the door. He didn't; he just left his hand there like a computer screen artifact-ing but it was his body. The door was white and, without a person there to move it open or closed, it stood partially opened, slightly inviting and slightly forlorn.

_I don't need to worry,_ Pete thought.

He let his hand fall back down to his side and turned to go reheat himself some leftover pizza.


	2. A Name is a Powerful Thing

Berg stepped out of his room the next morning, eyes bloodshot. He was walking like he'd only just learned how, stumbling everywhere and trying, and failing, to play it cool. Pete blinked, then sighed heavily. He hadn't known it was possible to be so worried about someone who _chose_ to be called Berg and frequently took random medications for money.

"Hey Berg..." He drawled. Berg glanced at him quickly, then wobbled over to the refrigerator and fumbled blindly around for a moment, looking for something. Food, he guessed. When had Berg last eaten? Pete raised an eyebrow. "You need some help there?"

"Mmm," Berg hummed, waving a hand dismissively.

Then he knocked a jar of peanut butter - thankfully plastic - clean off the shelf and onto the floor.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," Pete muttered, then got up from the couch and walked over to Berg, picking up the peanut butter and shoving it randomly back in the fridge. "What in the world is up with you, Berg?"

Berg made another noncommittal noise, and Pete sighed.

"What? Are you drunk? Are you insane? Are you high?"

Berg's face curled into his customary smile, a little bit gorgeous and a little bit shit-eating. Pete was almost relieved. There was no denying his best friend was beautiful, prettier than anyone else could ever hope to be, at least in Pete's eyes. But that didn't mean anything. You can call anyone pretty.

Berg turned on his heel and headed back to his room.

" _Michael!_ " Pete snapped, before he could stop himself. They both paused. Pete never used his first name. Not once, in their eleven years of knowing each other. When Pete was pissed off, usually he just said stuff like he was pissed off. Sarcastic and sharp. They both talked like that when they were angry, usually at each other. Was Berg really acting that weird? He turned around to look his best friend in the eyes. Pete didn't _look_ pissed off. He couldn't tell what Pete looked like, but it was not angry.

"Peter, I've been studying." He intended for it to be a joke, but it came out small and not at all smooth. Pete's face fell. Berg shook his head. "If you don't believe me, that's your fault."

Pete sighed and rubbed his temples. "Berg, please. I've known you for years. I can tell when you're lying."

Maybe there was no point to this. It's not like getting Pete to leave, if he could even manage it, would make him feel better. Nothing seemed like it would make him feel better, really.

"My mother died."

Pete's face flew through a series of emotions, landing on pity. Disgusting.

"Don't," Berg warned, holding a hand up. "I want- no, I need to be alone."

Pete nodded solemnly, then put his hands in his pockets. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Berg gave him a terrible grin. "Of course, who do you think I am? Myself?"


	3. Chapter 3

Pete was watching tv, some episode of The Twilight Zone he was half-listening to, on the couch when Berg opened his door again. It had been a few days, three if you were keeping track. Pete tensed up almost immediately when Berg saw him. He opened his mouth, looked around the room quickly, then let his gaze fall back on Berg and closed his mouth.

"Hey..." Berg said, and flopped down on the couch next to Pete, draping his arms across the back of the couch like normal, taking up as much space as he possibly could without touching Pete.

Pete muted The Twilight Zone and got ready to speak, but before he could Berg started talking again.

"I know I haven't been normal lately. You know, mom dead, it's a way to go about grieving. Being different than how I was before. But I'm letting you know I'm going to stop now. I'm going back to Berg. I'll make jokes and be funny and irresistible and you will love me and not have to worry even when I do stupid shit and we will be... best friends." He blinked, shook his head, and Pete winced.

"Berg..."

"No more words about me." Pete got ready to protest, but Berg shook his head and Pete sighed, then turned back to the tv. "Wait, wait, I need to hear about your life, you playboy! Gotten laid yet? Without my dazzling self around, it must've been easy, right? No competition?" Berg elbowed him in the shoulder and Pete couldn't help but giggle, just a little bit. Berg talking about sex always got him a little hysterical, for reasons unknown.

"Actually, no," Pete laughed dryly. "Berg, I don't even go to bars without you."

"Ah," Berg sighed, throwing an arm out dramatically and hitting Pete in the face.

"Berg, hey!"

"I am both thy savior and the one who doth bring thee downe!"

"Berg-"

"You will never be free of me! Much like an awful drug habit, or-"

"Which apparently you have now?"

Berg paused. "I said no more words about... me. This seems like it's veering off the road into "You-Start-to-Judge-My-Life-Choices" territory. You know, they're a very nasty group, the "You-Start-to-Judge-My-Life-Choices". They've been known to eviscerate intruders. I don't recommend we-"

"Berg, shut your mouth."

Berg did the opposite. "Actually, I'm trying to save you from yourself. We'll never be able to leave this apartment again if you keep heading in this direction, and also how did you get so sad. You look like someone just rolled over your favorite The One."

"It sounds like you're threatening murder."

"Maybe I am," Berg said, making a move to stand. Pete kept his iron grip on Berg's arm. Berg squealed a little bit, kind of like a pig trying to get free. "Hey! I need to get a knife! You know, to murder-" Pete squeezed and Berg squealed again. "Ow! Why are you doing that?"

"There are track marks. On your arm. The one that you hit me in the face with. Berg, do you have a... a problem? I can help, you know. I mean, not me exactly, but I can get you to someone who will help."

Berg scoffed and batted his free hand. "No... It was only once." Pete raised an eyebrow. Berg took a step backwards and flopped back down on the couch, leaning in close to Pete, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I promise, Pete, alright? I had access to heroin from the hospital; you know how easy it is to steal from there? Easier than from the Celtics, somehow. I thought maybe it would help me. With my mom. Self-medication, you know. But it didn't. And I don't have a habit and I'm never gonna do it again, and you can rest easy and let's just stop talking about me!"

Pete sighed, let go of Berg's arm, and rested his head on his hands. "Right. Of course. Just-"

"What are we watching, Peter?"

"The Twilight Zone. I think this episode's almost over, but they're running a marathon."

"Sweet!"

Pete sat up and settled back into the couch, soft no matter what was going on around them. The whole world felt like a hurricane, like something out of a bad story. Berg settled in next to Pete, almost touching him. Closer than usual. Farther away then either of them would've preferred.


	4. Chapter 4

When Pete woke up, the Twilight Zone was still droning on in the background. He'd turned the volume down when he realized Berg had fallen asleep, but hadn't even noticed his own exhaustion creeping up from his bones. Worrying about someone so much was tiring, especially when the someone was named Berg and generally incredibly wild, if not the least bit charming. It had started to drizzle rain outside, but in their apartment the light was warm and honey-soft. They were both curled into the soft cushions of the couch, Berg's head resting heavily on Pete's shoulder, one of his arms draped around Pete's body. Repose would've been the word Pete would use to describe him, his perfectly relaxed face and his languid body, if Pete could think straight enough to have real words.

Pete might've been thinking, but not even old historians would dare to call it "straight".

The lighting was perfect for Berg's kind of beauty (though Pete was sure that there wasn't a kind of lighting that wasn't). It cast his face in some kind of soft-focus, his hair glossy and smooth, his already youthful face turned younger with soft corners and a youthful smile Pete hadn't seen on him since they were both seventeen and still nervous around each other. He looked seventeen again, the perfect picture of them when they ran into each other, literally, in the crowded aisles of the South Boston High bleachers. They had been in and out of touch for three years, but after helping Berg clean Pete's Dr. Pepper and Berg's then-girlfriend's illegal beer off his shirt, Pete helped Berg break up with that girl, and then Berg offered to take him around to parties and help him meet people, and eventually it faded, wonderfully, into whatever they had now. Comfortable and casual and _good_.

"Pete," Berg murmured out from his sleep, the hand that was draped around Pete twitching slightly in the way of the deeply unconscious.

Pete wondered if this was a dream.

Except, it couldn't be a dream. If this were a dream, Berg would be awake. Or waking up. If this were a dream, Berg would have said his name again, fully awake. If this were a dream his name under Berg's tongue would be desperate and passionate and full of joy, his eyes would be beautiful and big, like the full moon that night Berg threw Pete a 30th birthday party, when they were laying on the steps. When Berg was soft; when he showed Pete Orion. If this were a dream, Pete would be shy but not nervous. Berg would have climbed onto Pete's lap, would have placed hands on both sides of Pete's hips. He would have kissed Pete softly once, and Pete would have kissed back, then they would've kissed each other harder, and then they would be sliding each other's clothes off-

Peter Dunville then looked down and decided maybe it was not the smartest idea to rehearse the wet dreams you have about your best friend while he is sleeping on top of you. Maybe best not to think about them at all, ever.

Berg yawned and Pete's heart skipped a beat, his pulse racing.

It was funny how people always thought Pete was the nervous one. They weren't exactly wrong, because Pete _was_ nervous. Amazingly so. He had never bothered to cover it up, what with his rambling and hard-to-breath moments and ducking into the bathroom when stuff got to be too much. But people never saw it in Berg because Berg was so goddamned good at everything. It took Pete or Sharon to spot one of Berg's nervous habits. He wrung his hands constantly. He laughed loudly and joked a lot to cover up the shaking in his voice. He practiced speaking well in the bathroom when he thought Pete wasn't home.

That's why it bothered Pete that he didn't know that Berg was going through something until Berg decided to stop functioning all together. All that, all that friendship, all that history, and Pete still couldn't catch it.

Well, at least he knew now. And he would help Berg back up, no matter what it took. That's what friends do for each other, right? Berg deserved someone who would steal a Celtics banner for him. Even if Pete would never actually steal the actual Celtics banner. It was the sentiment that Pete thought Berg deserved.

Berg's lashes fluttered and he yawned again. Pete's heart skipped another beat and he wonder if he possibly had a heart condition. There was no reason for the sudden excitement of his nervous system.

"Pete...?" Berg slurred, his eyes still half-closed. His hand tightened around Pete's arm and he managed to drag himself into a sitting position before nearly falling off the couch, grabbing onto Pete for support.

"Yeah- ow! It's me, Berg."

Berg tried and failed to prop himself up on his elbow, then eventually just settled for laying back down, head resting on Pete's stomach, and swinging his legs over the arm of the couch. He looked into Pete's eyes, frowning.

"What are we doing out here?"

Pete blinked. "You came out here and started to watch the Twilight Zone with me, remember?"

Berg rubbed both his eye and looked a little bit lost, then mumbled. "Yeah, but I thought we- never mind. Must've been a dream."

Pete nodded. "Right. Course. Listen, Berg, I-"

Berg shoved his hand over Pete's lips. Pete closed his eyes, sighed internally, and managed to wrangle his mind off of Berg and onto Julian Carlton, the guy who axe murdered and arson-ed Taliesin. _Julian Carlton killed seven people,_ Pete thought as Berg looked him dead in the eyes. _We're not talking to Julian Carlton,_ his brain retaliated, and Pete sighed not-so internally.

"Pete, I have something important to say."

Pete glared at Berg as hard as he could.

"I'm really..." Berg looked past Pete, out the window. "I'm sorry."

He very slowly removed his hand from Pete's face. Pete frowned, confused. "Why?"

Berg grinned, still not looking at Pete. "I had this dream where a little tiny bird version of you came tweeting at me, but all the tweets were just cuss words. So I know you're angry at me. Here's the kicker, though:"

"Let me guess," Pete said, "you no idea why."

Berg stared at Pete, eyebrow raised. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I know you."

Berg paused for minute. "Well?" He asked, finally.

Pete sighed, rubbing his head. "I've barely seen you this week. Because you locked yourself in your room."

"I didn't _lock_ myself in my room. You could've come in if you wanted to."

"Did you want me to?" Berg frowned. "That's my point," Pete said, and finally having nothing to do with his hands, he put them at his sides and looked down at Berg, who was looking up at him. Berg's mouth was tight line.

"Maybe..." he said, after a long silence. "Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay... I'm sorry. For real." Berg looked up at Pete again, but this time his face was relaxed, his mouth partially open. Pete almost smiled. "But I missed you too. I wanted to be alone, but I felt so lonely."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know," Berg said, his voice going real soft. He sat up and positioned himself normally on the couch, then leaned in a little closer to Pete. "Something better. You know? I wanted to be sad and protect you from my sadness. I'm not fun to be around me when I'm sad, not like you are. You get sad and I get to cheer you up, and then we end the day laughing; when I get sad, I'm just so sad. It's so deep, and there's nothing anyone can do to make me feel better. I walk around like a dark cloud. I'm not cool or sexy or anything anymore, I'm just _sad_. I wanted to be alone so you wouldn't have to cheer me up and I wouldn't have to pretend to be cheered up." He fell silent after that, and they both stared at each other for a few small eternities. Pete's eyes were narrowed and calculating, considering what he could say, how he could properly express what he felt. How he could say he would do anything Berg need (even not trying to cheer him up) without sounding desperate or desperately in love. Berg's eyes were big and open, his eyebrows furrowed. His heart was on his sleeve, and he was ready to be cut into. 

Consider with me for a minute, before Pete breaks this quiet. Consider how strange it is that two people can be so in love with each other. Consider how beautiful it is that they both love so quietly, mostly because they are scared. Consider how strange it is that two people can be so in love with each other and be so intimate with each other as friends, and still have no idea that they feel the same way. Each thinks he is something of an anomaly. Strange how they continue loving each other because of each other, despite thinking that the other doesn't feel the same.

"You don't have to pretend around me," Pete said, at last. Berg blinked.

"Of course you're going to say that."

"Of course I am because it's true."

"I can't lose you."

"I can't lose you, either, Berg. Especially not because of yourself. And you're not going to lose me, even if you get sad or something. I don't care how you're feeling, I care about you."

Berg sighed, deep and morose, and then he close his eyes and listened to the rain, listened to whatever it had to say in that light, pattering voice. Pete didn't close his eyes, didn't even dare breathe as he wrapped his arm around Berg's shoulders, pulling him closer. They listened to the rain together, because that's what friends do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, they won't be using the word "friends" much longer! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh apologies everyone! It has taken me too long to get this done. On the upside, I believe it's the best chapter I've written so far, and there's now a playlist for this work on Spotify that you can listen to! If you have any song recommendations, send an ask to my Tumblr: @asublimelimbo https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7F1KEcQ1G9DTN54ggY6jHM
> 
> Also, the first porn scene. It barely counts, but there will be more to come (haha).

When Pete woke up the next day, it was still raining. He could hear it clattering against rooftops. He stretched and got out of bed, opened the curtains and looked out the window. The world was grey and the clouds were thicker and darker than he remembered from yesterday, and it was no longer drizzling, now it was truly pouring. The air was cold, crisp against his pajamas and bare skin, so he got dressed quickly in the normal button down and khakis.

He made himself some peanut butter toast and plopped down on the couch to eat. Before he could rub the sleep properly from his eyes, Berg had leapt over the couch to sit next to him, forcing him to hold on tight to his plate and toast so it wouldn't go flying everywhere. Berg gave Pete his typical grin and Pete sighed.

Berg, even with those hollow eyes and dark circles that lingered, looked _beautiful_.

"What was that for?"

"What was what for?"

"I nearly lost my breakfast!"

"But you didn't," Berg pointed out, elbowing Pete and shaking his head. "I wouldn't have jumped over here if I wasn't sure that you could keep track of your sandwich."

"This is a piece of toast."

"Or an open-faced sandwich."

"Berg..."

"I am a delight to be around, Pete, face it."

Pete scoffed. "Right. And I invited a stripper over this morning."

Berg's face lit up. He clasped his hands together. "Oh Pete, you shouldn't have!"

For some reason the way Berg said Pete's name sent Pete's pulse racing. It echoed through his mind, bouncing around his skull, until he became acutely aware that his cheeks were pink and his lips were parted, and he was staring at Berg like he had killed someone. He was vaguely aware that his skin felt much too warm, like he'd just been burned.

"Pete? You're lookin' a little... hot-blooded over there." Berg grimaced.

"Oh- um, yeah, don't know why- sorry, see ya later Berg," Pete mumbled. He stood up, dropped his plate (and toast) on the floor with a crash, and went into the bathroom. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, but he couldn't seem to move faster than a inch an hour. His brain was numbly trying to explain what had just happened, something about not enough sleep (Pete had been sleeping fine) or... or too much beer (he hadn't consumed alcohol for at least a week), or maybe it had been Berg's fault (but that was impossible). "Probably just nerves," he murmured after locking himself in the bathroom and turning on the fan and splashing his face with very cold water. Nerves about what? His brain asked him, but all he could do was sigh. There was no use in speculating. Humans, including himself, were unreasonable creatures. That was that. Incessant questioning would do no good.

But why?

Incessant questioning would do no good.

Pete splashed himself with freezing water once more and let himself sag down to the floor, head in his hands. He still felt warm. Too hot for a cold Boston day. It wasn't exactly hard to pinpoint the location that all that heat was coming from. Great. It was enough to suddenly be getting more anxious than he'd been since middle school for no particular reason. Now he was aroused for no particular reason, too? Couldn't there be an explanation for more things? He stood up and slowly undid the fly to his khakis. His underwear were white and old, frayed around the hem and waistband, but it didn't bother him. He didn't masturbate often. He tried to be silent as he took of his pants the rest of the way, and then his underwear. Berg might or might not be listening, but either way it wasn't like these pale blue walls were soundproof. Or, for that matter, thick. He slowly stretched out his legs, and spread them apart so everything was easily accessible. He stared at his penis for a moment. It was partially erect, and certainly not going down anytime soon. Pete moved his right hand towards it, but flinched back as a picture of Berg flashed into his mind. Berg's face was red, his lips partially open. He was saying something that Pete couldn't understand, but it came out breathy and desperate. Berg, in this particular fantasy, was laying next to Pete, breathing these precious, unhearable words into his ear, drooling on Pete because he was so excited-

Pete frowned as his erection grew. He wasn't going to start thinking about his best friend as he masturbated. That would be weird. Weird. And he couldn't be... he couldn't be sexually attracted to Berg, because they were best friends. It wouldn't make sense. A very small part of his brain reminded him that he'd been saying all morning that humans were weird and didn't make sense, so in theory he _could_ be attracted to Berg, but he shut that down. It just wouldn't make sense. Berg was his best friend, not his perfect image of sexual fantasy personified. He directed his thoughts to something less Berg-filled and began to stroke himself. Slowly at first, then speeding up. Another picture of Berg popped into his head, and he stopped for moment to regain composure. Pushed the image away.

He started touching himself again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fending off fantasies of Berg every five seconds. Humans were weird, he reminded himself. No reason to panic. Pete tried to stay as quiet as possible, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to conceal the little husky and swollen moans of pleasure that forced their way out every once in awhile. As has been said, these walls were thin and he desperately didn't want Berg to know what he was doing.

Oh God, _Berg_.

Pete came out of the bathroom twenty-eight minutes later. Berg was upon him immediately, though thankfully (for Pete's sanity and well being) not literally.

"Pete?" Berg asked, at once in his face. "What's up with... that?" Berg waved a finger in a circle in Pete's face. He flinched away. Pete wasn't sure what had been going on in his stupid head while he was in the bathroom, but it didn't seem right to be so close to Berg after it.

"Uhmm... Nothing. I'm normal. Completely. I'm Pete!"

"Yeah, I'm painfully aware of that fact. You might fool someone else, but I know when something's wrong. You look like you've just died and come back to life." Pete winced at the simile. Accurate, but probably not in the way Berg would expect. "Come on, Peter! You can tell me anything. I'm your doctor."

"Berg, you're no one's doctor. And you're wrong."

Berg, to Pete's surprise, nodded instantly. "You know what, you're right. You couldn't fool Ralph Wiggum."

Pete rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, Berg."

Berg bit his lip. "Sorry. I know I shouldn't make fun of your IBS. You were just in the bathroom for so long, I was wondering if you had to go to the hospital or something."

"Berg! I don't have IBS. Maybe I just don't want to talk to you about it, and you making fun of me is not going to change my mind."

"You made me talk about my problems."

Pete's mouth fell open. "You were destroying yourself. I went to the bathroom. I feel like that's a _little_ bit different."

Berg scoffed and batted his hand at Pete's face. Pete swatted at his hand, and felt with acute clarity the panic which spread through his body as their hands brushed. Weird. _Humans are unreasonable creatures,_ Pete assured himself. _It's pointless to try and explain something that has no explanation_. He took a deep breath. There was no reason to get scared or worked up. It was only Berg, who he had known for so long, who he was comfortable and intimate with. Intimate. He pushed the thought out of his brain, and refocused on Berg, who was saying his name and waving a hand in his face.

"Hello? Pete, anybody there?" Berg took Pete's absence in reality to knock on his head. Pete's heart sped up again, and he felt himself leaning into Berg's touch before he could stop himself. Humans are so weird. Pete jumped. "Are you okay?" Berg asked, brows knitted together. "Because that looked like fainting. I mean, I am a doctor. I should know."

"You're not a doctor Berg."

"Ha! I knew that would get you out of your stupor. Now, tell me. What's wrong?"

Pete rubbed his head and frowned at Berg. "I don't understand why you're so focused on this. Can you just let it go?"

Berg frowned back at him. "Because you- you've been trying _so hard_ to help me." Berg eyes narrowed and his gaze fell to the floor. Pete wished he could tilt Berg's chin up, back towards him. Make Berg feel every inch of the monstrous force with which Pete loved him. Platonically. "And I thought that meant you wanted to be... closer to me. But I guess I was wrong?"  
Pete opened his mouth. Then shut it. His heart was racing. He didn't know what to say.

Berg shook his head. "Yeah, um, it doesn't make sense. No need to fix something that's not broken." He gave a half-hearted little laugh, a mockery of what he usually sounded like.

Pete wanted to reach out to Berg, to brush his hands against his lips, tell him to shut the fuck up. He wanted to say things sweetly into Berg's ear, wanted to tell him he wasn't wrong or mistaken when he thought that Pete wanted to be closer to him. Pete lifted his hands towards Berg. He wanted to be closer. It was shaking. "Berg... you, you're..." His heart rammed itself against his ribs so hard he'd be surprised if he didn't wake up tomorrow with copious internal bleeding. _Berg, you're_ not _wrong._ He couldn't say it. Everything was shattering. He couldn't do it. _Berg, you're not wrong._ He opened his mouth and closed it again and again, repeating the motion until Berg sighed.

"Pete, I'm going out. I'll see you tonight. Or something."

And before Pete could speak, Berg was out the door, down the stairs, and into the freezing rain.

Pete sat down right where he was and breathed deeply for a few minutes, until he could think clearly again. He felt... horrible. He was supposed to be helping Berg, not hurting him. He should've breathed a little deeper and calmed down and told Berg. Or at least told him something. Anything.

"You're not wrong," Pete offered to the walls around him. "But at least you're getting out."


	6. digging graves

"I'm just not sure how to fix this, Sharon," Pete said, shoving his hands in his pockets. She nodded, lips pressed against one another. "I don't know what happened, or what to say to him. He just went off on me, and I mean, I guess I get it, but he can't expect me to tell him everything. The man's neurotic about his own privacy. He has to understand. I can barely believe... any of it happened at all."

Sharon cocked her head. "But you two fight all the time, what makes this any different?"

Pete threw up his hands. "I don't know! It is, though. To Berg, at least."

She sat down next to him on her couch and stole back the bag of Lay's. "Maybe you should try saying sorry." She crunched on a few chips while Pete stared at her.

"That won't help anything, Berg won't like it."

Sharon snorted. "Have you tried making a gravestone for your friendship yet?"

"Sharon!"

She shrugged. "I'm trying to tell you that if you aren't willing to make mistakes, Berg won't even know you're trying. That really would be the end of your relationship."

Pete sighed, ruffled his hair with hands, and got up. "Thanks anyway," he muttered, walking out of her apartment and back down to his and Berg's. He opened their door and sat down on the couch. "What am I supposed to do?" He asked no one, and no one answered. He turned on the TV and flipped through the channels until he found something worth watching. Reruns of The Simpsons. Berg liked the show so much more than he did, but he didn't change the channel again. It would seem wrong in some weird way, like an insult to Berg. He closed his eyes and listened to Homer read his suicide note.

Berg wasn't home yet. It had been two days. Long, lonely, dragging days. Pete had barely slept. He hadn't realized how much Berg's presence contributed to his well-being before, but now it was painfully obvious. Pete shuffled around their apartment, the floor cold on his bare feet. The weather had gotten colder and wetter each day for a while now, and Pete was getting sick of it. He started the coffee maker and went to go look out the window. Grey clouds stretched over the city's rooftops, drizzling freezing rain. He hoped Berg was okay. Somewhere warm. Safe. Berg was probably okay. Probably with a girl. He was probably partying, or having a date like in a romcom, or just being Berg. Without Pete. Pete clenched his fists and the water whistled.

He got out a yellow mug and poured the coffee.

Maybe it would be worth it to apologize.

Pete went grabbed his phone and dialed Berg's number. He held the phone up to his ear, hands shaking. This made sense. Why he was anxious about Berg now. Not like before. It also made sense. The thing he was about to do. He couldn't deal with it anymore. He _needed_ Berg. Not like he would say that, but he'd try to imply it somehow. Without sounding like he was in love with Berg or something, because he wasn't. He missed his best friend. Platonically.

There was a click, and then a voice that wasn't Berg's. "Hello?" It was soft and rough, like a smoker's.

"Hi, I'm looking for Berg. Is he with you?"

There was the plush rasp of a whispered conversation from the other side of the line, and then some scuffling. "Hey Pete," Berg said.

"Hi."

Silence descended between them.

"Well? Pete? Did you need something?"

"I- uh, yes. Can we... will you... I mean, I know it's not really my place, you're a grown man and I know we're fighting- or something like that, and um, bu-"

"Pete, it is just me and you. Nothing to be scared of," Berg murmured gently, and Pete felt his heart go liquid. There was always something Berg seemed to be able to pull out of his hat of charm, and Pete would never understand why it affected him like it did. So much, even after eleven years of watching Berg do it.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Please come back home, Berg. I'm sorry. You don't have to talk to me, but I can't... I'm worried about you."

Berg sighed, too. He sounded tired. "Pete." Pete waited while Berg was quite. It felt like maybe hours or days. Maybe years. "Pete," Berg said again, but his voice was hoarse and full of emotion. "I have to go home," Berg said, but it didn't sound like it was directed at Pete. It sounded like maybe he was talking to his girlfriend, whoever she was, and covering up the microphone badly. His girlfriend said something indistinguishable, then Berg spoke to Pete again. "Fine. But you have to make me sandwiches."

Pete almost giggled he was so happy. Full of careless joy for the first time since his twenty-first birthday party, when he and Berg had gotten drunker than drunk and did a bunch of stupid shit.

"Of course, Berg. Sandwiches."


	7. everything was beautiful and nothing hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from Kurt Vonnegut!

It had been an hour since Pete had last spoke to Berg. On the phone. When he said he was coming home. Pete was pacing around the kitchen. He couldn't stop thinking of things that could be happening. Berg, getting mugged. Berg, deciding he was angry again and turning around. Berg, getting kidnapped. Berg, deciding to never call Pete again. Never to speak to him again. Deciding he liked this new girlfriend better than he liked Pete. Berg, never coming home.

He should've been back by now, right? How long could the walk from the girlfriend's house to theirs be? He should've asked Berg when they were still on the phone together when he thought he'd be back home. Home. Did he have a right to call this place Berg's home? Or was that wishful thinking on his part, wishing that Berg still loved him as much as he'd always thought Berg loved him? Loved him enough to come back to their apartment, which Berg might or might not call home. Pete sighed and slumped down on the couch, his head in his hands. What if Berg had never loved him? What if he was just a convenient, responsible person to house with? Why was he even so concerned if Berg loved him or not? It made it sound like he was in love with Berg, which definitely wasn't the case. Best friends. They were best friends. So it couldn't be the case. Being in love with your guy best friend was crack-headed. Crazy. Preposterous.

And scary.

If he'd asked when Berg was going to be back at the apartment, he could've at least cleaned up a little. The place was a wreck and a half. He hadn't cleaned once over these past two days, either. He wished like he could be like Sharon, who seemed to clean whenever any particularly strong emotion took her. Pete couldn't clean unless he was focused and things were making sense. Things were not currently making very much sense at all. And he was as unfocused as Berg himself.

Pete let out a sharp, low noise, mostly at himself, and got up to get the phone. He started to pace across the living room again as he dialed Berg's number.

It rang three times, and Pete was about to start screaming or throwing things when he finally heard that soft click.

"Pete?"

"It's been an hour!"

"Yeah?"

"It's been _an hour,_ " Pete repeated, then huffed. "I thought you were either angry or dead. How long does it take to get from your girlfriend's place to ours?"

"Hmm... I'll let you make that judgement for yourself." And then Berg hung up.

Before Pete could scream or have a panic attack, their door was opening and Berg was striding through, a maniac grin on his face. His hair was dripping wet, and his cheeks and the tip of his nose were burnished pink from the cold outside. He was carrying a six pack in one hand and a small, shiny, wrapped box in the other. Pete rushed over to him. He lifted his arms up to hug Berg, then thought better of it and shoved them down in his pockets.

"Hey buddy," Berg said, kicking the door closed.

"Hey," Pete replied, smiling bigger than he had in such a long time. It felt good. To see Berg again, to know he was there. Berg trotted over to the kitchen counter and set down the six pack. Then he turned around and got down on one knee in front of Pete.

"Peter Dunville, I have a question I sincerely hope you'll say yes to."

Pete's heart began to race. To soar. He couldn't decide whether to grin or to frown or try and keep his face neutral, so he gave a weird mix of the three, something bittersweet and ugly to everyone but Berg. Pete felt his palms start to sweat, so he pushed his hands into his pockets. The whole world slowed down, and for a precious second it was just Pete and Berg and his box and both their racing hearts.

"Yeah?" Pete finally choked out, his lips finally settling into a smile. He blinked.

Berg removed the top from the box, and inside it sat a small, glittering ice cube. It was melting, slowly soaking the cushion it was nestled in.

"Pete, would you do me the honor of having a nice cold beer with me?"

Pete blinked again, smile now forced on his face. He hadn't been hoping (he'd been hoping a little). It would've been... crazy. Outrageous. Completely in character for Berg. It wasn't like he would've said yes, though. Probably. He might've said yes _platonically_ , which would've been different than romantically.

"Of course, Berg," Pete said. "And a movie?"

"Actually, I'd like to talk to you. For real."

Pete raised an eyebrow. This was not very "in character" for Berg. "Alright. Couch?" Berg nodded and grabbed two beers, poured them into glasses, and put some ice cubes in. Then they sat down on the brown sofa, facing each other. Berg opened his mouth, then shut it again. Pete took a long sip of beer. Berg mirrored Pete, then set his glass down and began to fidget with the laces on his Adidas.

"Y'know, Berg, sometimes when people say they want to talk, they actually... talk."

"Yeah, I know. I'm getting properly intoxicated before I do."

Pete sighed. "Berg, you don't have to beat around the bush with me. I think it's way too late in this friendship for us to judge each other, so spit it out."

Berg busied himself with chugging his glass all the way down before he answered. "Peter, I think you're right."

Pete waved at him. "Earth to Berg? Where'd that conviction go?"

Berg pouted and gave him his big, irresistible puppy dog eyes. "You know what, Pete, I think I'm alright. We don't have to actually talk. We should watch a movie, like you suggested. Who is it you like? Cary Grant?"

Pete snorted. "Berg, you can't get out of it that easily. You said you wanted to talk. Talk."

"Let me get another beer."

It was about two hours later, and Berg had managed to distract him for all of it. They were both drunker than drunk, and Pete was honestly surprised they were both still conscious. Berg was slumped over, towards Pete, leaning on his elbows and looking at his friend like they were sharing devious plots to kill Caesar rather than getting way too drunk and spilling nonsense all over the carpet.

"So," Berg started, slurring his speech. "There was a guy in like, ancient Greece, and he looked at the world, and he was like... I think this shit is made of really little tiny spheres."

"Berg."

"So then everybody was like "Wha? No way-"

"Berg."

"Pete, I'm telling you a story."

"Some story. Tell me that thing."

"What thing? Oh. You mean the thing I won't..."

"Yes!" Pete leaned forward, a little bit to hear Berg say it in case he said it really softly, but mostly so he could smell Berg's breath. It was stinky, but Pete liked it. That was normal. Also, Berg was much warmer than Pete was, and Pete could finally feel that autumnal Boston chill creeping up his spine. It was growing darker outside, and the clouds covered up the sunset. Their world was a small bubble of giggles and gibberish and warm light in an otherwise deep grey sea of city. Pete wanted to be so much closer to Berg, he wanted to hold Berg in his arms and keep them both warm, but even after copious amounts of alcohol he still wasn't brave enough. Enough sense lingered in his head to keep him from pulling his best friend closer.

"So, Pete." Pete nodded. "How long did it take me?"

"Wha d'you mean?"

"To get home," Berg said, throwing his hands up and promptly face-planting onto the couch cushion.

Pete frowned for a moment. "Um, I dunno.You got home before I could..." Pete waved a hand languidly at the door.

Berg's eyes lit up. "I have a thing in my head."

"Idea."

"Idea. If you tell me why you were in the toilet for so long, I'll tell you what I was gonna tell you."

Pete frowned for a moment, thinking. "Fine. You... go first."

Berg pouted. "That s'not fair, Peter," he sang, dragging out the last syllable of Pete's name.

"Fair."

Berg sighed, rolled his eyes melodramatically, and sat up. He leaned in until Pete could feel Berg's breath on his face, the warmth of Berg's body too close to his. Pete's heart was racing, and he could swear he lost his breath when Berg's eyelashes fluttered. Berg's lips curled up slightly, just enough that Pete could see. For a good, long moment, until Berg spoke, the world was just Berg and Pete. Staring at each other, suspended. Just them and their thoughts about each other.

"I don't want to fight again," Berg said, after a long, tense minute of complete silence.

"S'that your thing?"

Berg nodded solemnly, his eyes all at once reminding Pete that Berg was... tired. Going through things. Berg was sad. Possibly lonely.

"Is it hard to be s'lonely?" Pete asked, his mouth moving before his brain had time to regulate the words.

Berg blinked, then lifted his hand and pressed it into Pete's cheek. "Yeah," he slurred. "Your face." He gave a weak laugh.

"Sorry we fought," Pete replied, patting Berg's hand twice. Berg's hand felt like it was on fire. His face was burning just because Berg was touching him. He wanted Berg to be touching him in so many different places. He was Berg's hands to explore every inch of him. He want to explore every inch of Berg. They could be like explorers.

"S'okay, sorta me too. I was worried."

"Bout what?"

"Us."

"Me too."

Pete was silent for a moment, then in his blur of alcohol remembered that he was supposed to tell Berg his thing now. "I was mastup- mastur..." He trailed off, frowning at himself. The word for what he had done was escaping his head. He settled on making the motion, up and down with his hand, above his crotch.

Berg caught his drift and laughed so hard he spit. "Should talk more in the morning," Berg asserted, and Pete nodded.

"Yeah."

"Night night." Berg promptly collapsed onto Pete, pulling him closer until he was all over his friend. Berg's hands were wrapped around Pete's torso, one of his leg's thrown over Pete's lap, his head resting on Pete's shoulder. Pete could tell he fell asleep almost instantly, his breathing evening out. Pete loved their bodies this close. He's have to make a point to do this more often. Or something.

"Night, Berg," Pete murmured, smiling slightly.

Pete leaned his hand on top of Berg's and fell asleep slowly, drifting in and out of dreams, while listening to the steady rhythm of Berg's heart. The rain pattered on outside, but it seemed so far away now. It was comfortable, and everything was alright.


	8. this is fact not fiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "A Lack of Color" by Death Cab for Cutie!
> 
> I know it's been a while (since I've posted), but I can assure that I am coming home soon :) This is a short chapter, but it feels big to me.

There had been nothing in Pete's entire life that was quite like waking up next to Berg. Boston was deep into November and the cold had ruthlessly sunk its claws into him; only the places on his body where he and Berg met were safe. The day was going to be clear, and the rising sun was poking its head up through the clouds and across the city's skyline. The faint light was highlighting Berg's hair and skin and eyelashes, casting everything in a golden glow. Pete hadn't thought Berg could be prettier than he was usually, or when he got cleaned up in a suit and tie, but here he was in yesterday's jeans and t-shirt looking beautiful. Better than beautiful. His lips were curled slightly up, and his face was smushed against Pete's chest. Pete wondered if he should be more unhappy, or worried, or at the very least embarrassed that he and Berg had ended up in this position, but he... wasn't. The hangover from last night's escapades hadn't yet sunk in, and though his head hurt he was content to watch Berg sleep.

Wow. Maybe this was something he should be embarrassed about, after all, watching your best friend sleep didn't feel very platonic.

Berg's eyes quivered open and he stretched, sticking his arms out and then wrapping them around Pete's neck. Pete tensed, then froze. Berg smiled, looked up into Pete's eyes, blinked sleepily, and shouted.

"Pete! What are you doing here?"

"Berg!" Pete replied, mimicking his friend. "I live here. With you."

Berg winced, and put a hand to his head. "Oh..." Berg sighed. his face going slack. He sat up and looked around. Pete watched him carefully, the tilt of his shoulders and the slant of his lips. "I forgot I came back." Pete wanted to kiss those lips. Platonically.

"We got drunk."

"Yep."

Pete laid his head down, so he was looking at the white, bumpy ceiling, and closed his eyes. Suddenly, his senses were too much. Noise. Light. Even touching Berg, whose side was still half pressed up against Pete's, seemed like too much stimulation. Fireworks sizzling where their skin met. He shivered. Berg sighed again, softly. They sat like that in silence, until Berg coughed loudly. It sounded fake. Pete's head swam and pounded, but he opened his eyes and spoke anyway.

"Berg?" Pete asked quietly. "Do you need something?"

"Please, keep your voice down." A moment of silence. "Yes."

Pete lifted his head up and looked at Berg, who looked back at him. "Well?"

"Let's not fight again."

Pete sighed, blinked, rubbed his eyes like a child, and nodded softly. "Alright."

"How would you like some coffee?"

"That'd be great," Pete said, regarding Berg warmly. Berg smiled sheepishly and got up to go start the water.

* * *

They drank coffee together on the couch, Berg watching Pete warily and Pete half ignoring Berg, half panicking. What had happened to Berg? Why had he made them coffee without any jokes or tricks or complaining? It wasn't that Berg wasn't usually kind, but he showed it in odd little ways. Like stealing the Celtics' banner, or tying Pete up and locking him in his bedroom when he was off his mind on pain killers from a dental surgery. Berg was sweet, but in his own way. Not in the waking-up-in-your-arms-and-making-you-coffee way. Maybe he was like that, though. With his girlfriends or one-night stands. Pete had never experienced that though, because... he'd never been one of those.

He started to panic significantly more. Did Berg count that as a one-night stand? Was he going to try and kiss Pete? Or fuck him? Pete winced and took a too-large sip of too-hot coffee, gulping it down with a wheeze.

"Pete? You good there buddy?"

Pete nodded. "Yep! Great! Thinkmyhangover'sgone, I'mgonnagochangenowalrightbye." Pete stood abruptly, put his coffee down on the coffee table, and walked quickly to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. He slumped down and collapsed onto his bed. He thought about why. Why he was so scared of things that he shouldn't be scared of, namely: Berg. There was no reason to be scared of Berg. Berg was soft (sometimes), he was good (always), he was kind (when it mattered, anyway), and most of all, he was Pete's best goddamn friend. For a long while, there was complete silence, and then Pete listened as Berg's light footfalls made their way to Pete's door. Then a little more silence, and then there was knock.

"Pete? Can I come in?" Pete didn't respond. "I brought coffee. It's still... a little warm."

Pete was silent for a few more seconds, then sighed. "Come in," he said, voice muffled by the sheets.

The door creaked open and Berg walked over, sat the coffee cups down on Pete's desk, and then sat down next to Pete's face. Berg patted Pete once, awkwardly, on the back of the head.

"So..." he started, then trailed off.

Pete gave a heavy sigh, then sat up and looked at Berg. "What is it?"

"What happened?"

Pete narrowed his eyes. "I..." His heart began to beat too fast, his head got too loud. His pulse paced through the veins in his wrist so quick it hurt, and he took a deep breath he could not help but take, though it did no good. "Got scared."

"Of what?"

Pete closed his eyes again, and leaned against Berg's shoulder. Berg tensed up at first, then relaxed again. His body was warm against Pete's, and Pete almost smiled.

"You."


	9. for the first time in years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the same Death Cab song as the last one, "A Lack of Color". It's depressing and beautiful, and out of context these two lyrics really fit the scene of what's going on in our boys' lives right now, so I figured why not?
> 
> I think you guys are gonna like this chapter :)

Berg frowned. Though, that was an understatement. Berg's eyes got heavy all of a sudden, mixing anxiety and melancholy with something hard and glittery. When he looked back up at Pete, all Pete could see was emotion too vast and deep and great for words. He ignored it. Pete clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and did not speak for a long time. Berg watched him carefully, narrowing his eyes. His lips fell partially open, as if he were trying to say something but he felt it would be stupid, or it would sound silly once he actually managed to get it out of his mouth. There were black and blue spots in Pete's eyes when he opened them back up, and then he blinked and the world got all blurry, with the lights turning brighter than before. He reached up to wipe his eyes and they were wet; he was crying. It started off soft and simple, but the tears turned into a downpour, and then a fucking hurricane. A tsunami of words, mumbles, moans, sobs, and lots and lots of tears. He fell, shaking, onto Berg's shoulder, whining or mumbling or chanting incongruent things about how he felt, or why he said that, or what was going on, and finally Berg wrapped a careful arm around the body of his best friend and pulled them close together. Their sides pressed against each other, like they had been when they were sleeping, roles reversed, Pete's face flush to Berg's chest.

Berg held Pete tightly until he stopped shaking. Pete wiped his eyes again, with his shirt sleeve, and then put his arms firmly at his sides, his fingers trailing off the edge of the bed.

"Pete," Berg whispered. "Why are you scared of me?"

"Why am I feeling so much?" Pete asked and glanced over at Berg, who shook his head.

"Why does the Pope live in the Vatican?" Berg asked, then let out a strangled laugh. "Right?"

"I'm not scared of you," Pete said.

"But you just said--"

"I'm scared of how I feel about you. It hurts and it feels so good, like I'm burning from the inside out. Like I'm turning into a galaxy. I'm scared of how much there is inside of me. I never felt this way with anyone else. It was easy to ignore when I first met you. I explained it away. I was intrigued by you, I said. The "New Guy" who chooses to be called Berg and makes me laugh in the middle of class, and who I got drunk with for the first time, and who put on a dress and a wig and some perfume and asked me to the school dance our senior year of high school. He's fun. And then we were best friends, and nothing could separate us, and I didn't want anything to separate us, so I went on a search for "The One" who could make me stop thinking about you all the time and what we did when we got drunk in your parents house over the summer. And it almost worked. Goddammit, Berg, it almost worked! But then your mother... passed away. I'm sorry about that. And you needed help. And I wasn't going to just not help you. You're my best friend. So we got close. And then I started to panic. I feel so much, Berg. And please don't hate me, but I need you, and I don't know what else I can say without saying... it." It was rain out his mouth, each word uncontrollable. He didn't take breaks during his speech, but once he was done he gasped for air and laid down on his back, so he was staring at the ceiling.

Berg let out a breath loudly and laid down next to him.

"Don't hate me," Pete murmured, his voice hoarse. Like he'd used every drop of syllable he had on his speech, or rant, or terrified effusion, or whatever you'd want to call it, and now all he could do was talk it short, soft sentences that ended before they began.

"I don't," Berg whispered back. Then he laughed, and it was jarring in comparison to everything else. Pete lurched his head to look over at him, and Berg shrugged. He seemed casual, acted nonchalant, but his eyes were big and empty.

"How _do_ you feel?"

"That depends what you mean by "it"."

Pete looked away from Berg. "You know what I mean."

"Say it."

"No."

"Please, Pete. I need to hear it from you."

"Fine."

A beat passed. Berg raised his eyebrow at the ceiling. "Pete?"

"I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been for a long time. I'm so in love with you. I'm sorr--"

"Don't you dare apologize." Berg, without looking, almost without moving, grabbed Pete's hand in his and squeezed it tightly. "I'm here."

"Why would that--"

"Shhh." Berg leaned over, and with his free hand, shoved a finger over Pete's mouth. "I think I feel calm."

It was exactly six minutes and thirteen seconds before Berg spoke again. Pete wasn't sure how to feel, whether to be nervous or excited or if he should even still be here, in their apartment. He couldn't live with Berg if he didn't feel the same. Now that the secret was out, what was he going to do? But Berg wasn't letting him go anytime soon judging by how tightly he was gripping Pete's hand, and Pete was okay with that. They sat in that silence, and Pete tried in vain to get his heart to stop racing, or his body to stop feeling--it was like he said. It felt as though he was burning up from the inside out--or his mind to stop reeling, stop asking all these questions. He knew he wouldn't be able to get them to stop. There was no way. He let out a big breath and took another in, and close his eyes shut tight, and tried to relax the tension in his jaw and shoulders.

Berg glanced over at him. "Do you know how many nerves end in the lips?"

Pete let out a shaky breath and made eye contact with Berg. "How many?"

"One million." Berg brought Pete's hand up to his mouth and kissed Pete's largest knuckle gently. "It's why they're so sensitive," he murmured, and kissed another knuckle. "And do you know why it feels so good?"

Pete couldn't stop staring at Berg. His body was on fire, slowly being consumed by the flames like wood. "Why?" His voice was weak, and he didn't think he was breathing. Not enough, anyway.

"Because when your lips touch something inviting or--" he interrupted himself by kissing another one of Pete's knuckles, "particularly tasty, your nerves send a message to your brain that something good is happening, and your brain releases large amount of oxytocin, serotonin, and dopamine."

Pete shuddered and his breathing grew heavy. "What-- what's oxytocin?" His brain felt like it was melting. It was just like Berg to seduce someone by being so smart and so... Berg-ish at the same time. Was he being seduced? He could worry about that question once Berg had stopped being... less than an inch away from him.

"It's like a drug. Called the love--" he gently kissed the last one of Pete's knuckles, the smallest one, and smiled at Pete. "Hormone, because it makes you feel lust." Berg let go of Pete's hand, which promptly went boneless. Pete couldn't focus on his hand long enough to keep it curled up when Berg had just crawled up to him and put his knees on either side of Pete's hips. Berg was smiling like he was happy, but it wasn't the crazed kind of glee that came with him trying out new products and getting paid for it, or doing something he knew he wasn't supposed to. It was soft and warm. Pete couldn't remember if he'd ever smiled like this before.

"Berg," Pete wheezed, still short of breath. "What about your girlfriend?"

He blinked. "I'll break up with her tomorrow. Today is ours."

"I never knew you were such a romantic," Pete said, suddenly reaching back in his mind and trying to recall if he had ever seen Berg act like this before.

"I never knew you were in love with me," Berg replied, leaning down a little bit and kissing Pete's cheek.  
Pete might've asked if Berg was in love with him, or if he was just doing this for shit and giggles, or maybe even _what in the world was going on,_ if Pete could think or talk at all anymore. Berg trailed kisses across Pete's face, over his cheeks and his eyelids, down his nose (which made Pete giggle, just a little bit), constellationing across his forehead, until finally Berg reached down and kissed his lips. It was long, and deep, and it almost made up for the years of _not_ kissing Berg. His lips were as soft as the rest of his skin, and he tasted faintly of sweet liquor. Pete moaned in to Berg's lips, and Berg smiled. Pete could feel it against his mouth, and it felt so good. Nobody had ever smiled while they were kissing him before. Pete curled one of his hands around Berg's head and the other wound tight around his waist. Berg's chest was heaving, and they were so close together Pete could even feel Berg's heart pounding. Pete leaned in a little more.

There was a loud knock at the door. They both froze, and despite the clear distraction Pete couldn't help but relish the feeling of Berg's muscles tightening under his hands. Berg broke away from Pete, panting. His cheeks were flushed and Pete felt like nothing really mattered anymore.

"Who do you think it is?" Pete whispered, and Berg shook his head.

"I'm not sure." Berg stood up, slowly, brushed his hand against Pete's thigh, and sighed. Pete stood.

There was another, louder knock, and some shouting. Berg looked at Pete sideways.

"Sharon," Pete said, and nodded. "We should answer."

They walked together to the door. Pete straightened his shirt and glanced at Berg. Berg raised an eyebrow. Pete reached up and wiped a bit of saliva off Berg's bottom lip. Berg's cheeks flushed, and he mouthed "Really?"

Pete broke into a grin and opened the door.

Sharon stood outside, arms folded, frowning. Her gold hair glistened in the midday sun. She was wearing a pink blouse and a black skirt, and little black heels.

"What are you two so happy about?"

Pete laughed and put his hands on his hips. "Well, there's nothing to not be happy about!"

Sharon glanced at Berg. "Did he accidentally get one of your drug trials again?"

Berg shrugged. "Probably. Never know with the guy."

Pete scoffed. "I'm not high, guys. I'm just happy. You should try it sometime, maybe then you'd be able to function."

Sharon walked into their apartment and Berg gave Pete a huge grin behind her back. Sharon snorted, and turned to look at them. "I'm the one person in this room who does laundry. And has a stocked fridge. And a fully-working shower. I'm pretty sure those count for something."

Berg batted his hand at her. "What are you talking about? Pete's got all that under control, don't you buddy?" He slapped Pete on the back, and sparks ran down Pete's spine. He glared at Berg.

"Anyway, boys! I have some good news and some bad news. Good news, my sister is finally getting married. Bad news, I have to go. And since I don't have a date, you two are coming with me."

"Aw! Shar-"

"We'd love to," Pete announced, elbowing Berg in the side. "When is it?"

"Next week, on Tuesday. I'll come down here at three-thirty, and the processional will start at five."

Berg snorted. "An hour and half to get ready?"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "I always forget, you do everything at super-speed. Look at me, I'm Berg! I get ready for fancy events in ten minutes! My hair is automatically styled! Some of us have to actually try, Berg. And that's not time to get ready, anyway. The wedding's at Cape Cod."

"It's not my fault you guys are slow."

Pete clasped a hand over Berg's mouth. "We'll be ready Sharon. Don't worry."

She snorted. "I'm sure. Now, I've got to go help my sister. Don't forget!"

"We won't!" Pete called after her as she left the apartment, closing the door behind her.

He took his hand off Berg's mouth. "Hey," Berg said, turning to face Pete.

Pete paused. "Hey."

Berg walked up to Pete, until they were less than two inches from each other, Pete blinked, and Berg was kissing him, and he was kissing back. It was good.


	10. Peter Fucking Dunville

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it has been a while y'all! This chapter has been in my writing world for about three weeks, so it's long and lusty. I've had so much life going on lately, which is why this took me so long. Happy holidays, and since this maybe the last chapter I post before next year, here's to a better 2021 for everyone! I really appreciate the fanbase of Two Guys and a Girl, however small it is, and if you're reading this, thank you. <3

There was nothing particularly special about _this_ Saturday morning. It was cold. There were a few clouds drifting by the Eastern horizon, dipped in gold or pale pink by virtue of the sunrise. In Pete and Berg's apartment, the air was light and sweet with the smell of pancakes. Pete was standing over the stove, flipping them. Berg had his arms wrapped around Pete's waist and his head was leaning on his shoulder.

"Finally up, sleeping beauty?" Pete said, affection turning his voice into melted butter. He flipped a pancake, and Berg pressed a gentle kiss into the crook of his neck. Pete giggled.

"S'only ten."

"Some people make a point to get up before then."

"Some people, while very sexy, are also insane." He squeezed Pete's waist and Pete found himself laughing. "Also, I know a lot about anatomy."

"What does that have to do with sleep?" Pete flipped another pancake and Berg gave him another neck-kiss. "Berg!" He giggled softly, "you know I'm ticklish there."

"Not much to do with anything." Pete flipped two more pancakes and Berg interrupted himself by kissing Pete's neck twice. "I just thought I'd mention it. For future reference."

Pete grinned. Despite his long history of denying any attraction towards Berg, he had always favored his friend right after he got up. It was the only time Berg ever seemed to lose his smart-alec edge, the only time he was optimistic and un-self-consciously happy. Berg said that no one could be happy this early in the morning, but Pete never believed it. Berg was living evidence to the contrary, especially right now. He was grinning like nothing had ever been wrong. Like it wasn't only a few weeks ago that his mother had died and he had been sent into that nasty spiral of worry and hopelessness.

"I'm also a really good teacher," Berg continued, his voice low and lascivious. "You should come to my room. I can get out my diagrams. Teach you tons." He could feel Berg smile a kiss into his neck as he flipped another pancake.

"Your room?"

"Now that you're a member of the me-club, you can come in."

"A member of the what?"

"The me-club. It's a club for people who I have sex with."

"We haven't had sex yet, Berg."

"I guess it's time to fix that," Berg said into Pete's ear. Pete bit his tongue.

"Get me a plate?" Pete asked, and Berg sighed, but did it anyway.

Pete flipped each pancake over once more to make sure they were all done, resulting in a small blizzard of kisses down the side of his neck and onto his shoulder. Pete tried hard not to let his breathing hitch and moved the four pancakes to the plate.

He turned around so that he and Berg were face to face. Berg looked perturbed.

"What's wrong?"

He stared at Pete anxiously for a moment, then shook his head. "We have to decide between waiting for your pancakes or waiting for sex."

Pete put the plate down and wrapped his arms around Berg's shoulders, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush against one another. "You. Never change." Berg was still for a moment, blinked, then embraced him back.

"You know I never will. I save you and Sharon so much money."

"What?"

"I'm a free comedy show! If you guys didn't have me, you'd have to go to comedy clubs. Thankfully for you, I'm here."

Pete rolled his eyes. "Pancakes or sex?"

"Who am I?"

"Sex?"

"No, Pete. Buddy, it's me. Berg." Berg looked into Pete's eyes innocently and Pete sighed.

"Come on Berg, just fuck me already."

"That's what I like to hear!"

The walk to Berg's room was so much longer than Pete thought it could've possibly been. Berg's hand had grabbed his sometime in the process, and he hoped that Berg couldn't feel how hard he was shaking. His heart was beating so fast he would've gotten a speeding ticket if they were on the road. The whole world seemed to have lost all its midtones. The bright seemed too bright and the shadows seemed too shadow. It was all black and white... and Berg. Leading him. Looking at him with gleaming, hungry eyes. His mouth practically pornographic with the way it kept opening slightly, tongue peaking out.

Pete stopped at the doorway.

Berg glanced back at him. "Coming in?" His mouth was a sharp grin but his voice was low (maybe even a little concerned).

"I have to know something," Pete said, suddenly. Berg raised an eyebrow. "It's been eating at me. You... you know how _I_ feel. But how do you?"

Berg froze, then visibly took a deep deep deep breath. "Did you know that Tirana is the capital of Albania?"

"This isn't a pop quiz."

"I know," he murmured, narrowing his eyes. "But I don't have any answers for you."

"Does that mean you don't love me?"

Berg flinched. "No. I just..." He let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. "You know me, Pete! I don't fall in love! I _can't_ , I'm the guy who had ten girlfriends in six months! Unattached and dangerous and absolutely charming!"

"You loved Bethany." Pete's voice is soft (and maybe a little concerned).

He scoffs. "No I didn't. I _avoided_ her. I loved you." Berg slapped a hand over his mouth, and his eyes widened.

"That's all I needed." They made eyes contact. Pete exhaled and nodded once. He closed his eyes and took a step over the threshold of Berg's room.

"I didn't mean to say that," Berg babbled. "I meant to say that it was just a silly crush, and that I didn't love her, but I did know that you wanted me to, because then it would have meant that this couldn't happen, because then you would have to figure out what was going on, and then we couldn't have had sex, I mean sorry you're scared, but I'm scared too, and I want you-"

Pete slapped a hand over Berg's mouth and pointed at the ceiling. "Berg..."

It was a map of the night sky, with constellations calculated and planets pointed out. Swirls of violets and sapphires and the occasional blob of pure ebony, with white, crimson, and blue dots as stars shining almost as bright as the real things. There was such detail to it that Pete, if having known Berg for maybe a year or two less than he did, would have thought he had hired someone to do it for him. The walls, though nearly covered in full by sticky notes and posters, were also painted in galactic scenes. Not constellations, it seemed, but great clouds of color bursting at the seams with otherworldly vibrancy. It turned what Pete had thought of as "Berg's room" into something more extraordinary and free. There was a desk in the corner with a few tall piles of books on it and nothing else. The floor was scattered with the things Pete had expected to find in Berg's bedroom: clothes, dirty dishes, and school-related items (everything from a philosophy textbook to a case study from freshman year to a pair of scrubs with something suspiciously red on them.

"It took me a whole week."

"Only a week?" Pete turned to gawk at Berg the same way he was gawking at the ceiling.

Berg shrugged. "The ceiling did. Freshman year, right after we got here. The walls I did sophomore, and all took a week each, except for the Pillars of Creations, which took two."

"Pillars of Creation?"

Berg pointed to the farthest wall, one that had one of the great clouds of color on it. "It's a famous picture of these elephant trunks of pretty space gas that are really, really far away from Earth."

"It's beautiful."

Pete felt Berg relax a little next to him, and leaned his head on Pete's shoulder. "Thank you." He sounded uncharacteristically sincere, and... normal. Not Berg-normal, but like, regular-human-person normal.

They stood like that for a moment, until Berg started to grip Pete's waist tighter and Pete remembered why he had even been asked into Berg's room in the first place. Berg sighed straight into his ear, warm and heavy, and Pete turned his head just enough to smile at him.

"So," Berg said, suddenly. "Have you ever... uh, fucked a guy before?"

Pete sputtered. "Um- No?"

"Me neither."

"Oh."

"Did you think I had?"

"Maybe."

"Pete?"

"You had sex with a lot of women, and I wasn't sure that infamous libido didn't extend to the mens' basketball team in high school."

Berg shrugged. "I _was_ their favorite bench warmer."

Pete almost laughed, but bit his lip at the last minute instead. "I guess we'll figure it out together." He was more nervous than he should be; you could hear it in his voice. Shaking.

"Nervous?" Pete barely nodded. Berg let out a dry laugh. "That makes two."

Pete's eyes flicked down to Berg's lips. They looked soft, he remembered them being very soft, and they were pink, and half-open. Berg looked back at him, inquisitive. Pete enjoyed having to look up ever so slightly to see Berg's face. He enjoyed the fact that he could bury his face in Berg's chest and be held by him tightly, and he liked the idea that someday he might wake up with his face pressed to that chest, bare skin underneath his cheek.

But maybe the thing he liked most about Berg was Berg. The culmination of all the traits that made the human standing before him now.

He tilted his head up and kissed Berg, and Berg kissed back. It was amazing how kissing Berg never stopped feeling good. They had been kissing every moment they could catch alone together for about three days now, and Berg was just so good at it, and Pete had wanted it for so long (judging by Berg's unwillingness to stop touching and kissing him when was, for example, on the phone, Berg had wanted it a while too). Pete was almost surprised the feeling, how Berg tasted, how his skin felt under Pete's hands, all of it, hadn't gotten old by now. Pete was beginning to believe it never would. It was an unreasonable thing to begin to believe, but it was happening anyway.

Berg rotated them so that Pete's back was facing the bed and then they fell down together, into the cotton green sheets.

Pete smiled into their next kiss, which made Berg smile back. Pete put his hands up Berg's pajama shirt, and he loved the feeling of his warm hands against Berg's warmer torso. Berg was lean and his body stretched and slid on top of Pete. Berg's hands crept to the button on Pete's jeans, and popped it out, then undid the zipper.

Pete shivered. Berg paused, and glanced up at him.

"Second thoughts?"

Pete shook his head. "Just nervous. About sex."

Berg grinned warmly. "How about we stick to blow jobs this time?"

"That'd be great. I know about those. Are you sure you won't miss... sex?"

Berg shrugged. "If we keep doing this... thing that we're doing as long as I hope we will be, we'll have plenny of time to figure that out." He crawled up so his lips were brushing Pete's ear. "Also," he whispered. "I'm nervous too."

Pete smiled at him, took Berg's face in his hands, and kissed his cheek chastely. "Good to know. Go get 'em, tiger."

Berg purred and Pete laughed in earnest. Berg prowled back down to Pete's penis. He put his lips on it, and Pete opened his mouth to make some quick remark about cat's tongues, but it was drowned out before it ever left his mouth by a sterling, needy moan. Berg grinned and let his tongue linger over Pete's erection, circling the tip slowly. Pete moaned Berg's name, closed his eyes and clenched his fists, balling up the bed sheets. Berg went down deeper and Pete's hips bucked, thrusting himself further into Berg's mouth.

Berg pulled back, and Pete moaned.

It was looking more and more like all Berg had to do was keep breathing and Pete would get hard, and if Pete was being honest, he was okay with that. More than okay.

Berg pressed his fingers into the soft flesh of Pete's thighs and Pete felt his heart flutter a little faster.

"Pete," and suddenly his name was a secret meant only for the two of them.

"Berg?" Pete's voice was pastel and dripping with lust.

"Are you ready for the mind-blowing part?"

Pete laughed. "That wasn't?"

Berg shrugged and Pete laughed again, and then Berg licked his cock. He got harder, that spiral in him tightening and turning. He felt so hot, he wished--

"Berg," Pete moaned loudly, as Berg ground the tips of his teeth gently against the tip of his penis. "Oh my God! Berg!" Pete was shouting now, his hips bucking, his whole body twitching.

There was an excess of heat building up in Pete's body, pleasure rumbling through his spine, and he tried to mumble something, some warning, but all that came out was another needy, helpless mewl of Berg's name.

Berg speed up, licking and sucking, pressing his lips to the sensitive places around Pete's penis. Berg slid his hands underneath Pete's shirt and pressed down, and then Pete was riding on a wave of ecstasy. He shouted, one final time, a raw sound that ripped itself from his throat without his notice, and he felt himself lose the small amount control he had had. He came once, and again, into Berg's mouth.

He let out a breath and let his head loll back, closing his eyes.

He sat up and looked at Berg, once his heart had stopped ramming itself against his ribs. Berg looked back at him, eyes big and brown, lips quirked to some joke Pete had missed.

"I'm sorry, Berg, I tried to tell--"

Berg cut him off by crawling up to his face and kissing him harshly, leaving Pete breathless again. He pulled away and then pressed his lips to Pete's again, like there was nothing else in the world he wanted. Nothing more he could do than kiss Pete. He threaded his hands through Berg's hair and pressed their faces closer together. Pete wrapped his legs around Berg's to keep him in place, as if either of them would ever willingly leave.

When Pete was finally out of breath, he pulled away from Berg. "Berg, I'm sorr--"

"You don't have to apologize, Peter fucking Dunville," Berg murmured, and rolled off Pete to stare at the ceiling. Pete nodded, and closed his eyes. Berg was right. He took a breath, let his heart settle and his nerves dissolve. This was Berg. He didn't have to be nervous.

"Can I ask you something?" Pete whispered, turning to glance at his best friend. His cheeks were flushed to beautiful rose and his bare chest was heaving.

Berg dipped his head slightly but didn't stop staring at the ceiling, the movement subtle to anyone but Pete.

"How are you feeling lately?"

Berg glanced at him, eyebrows knitted. "Well, what d'ya mean?"

"About your mom."

Berg frowned. "Your pillow talk needs some work. No wonder girls won't fuck you."

Pete gave Berg a look and Berg grinned. "I don't have trouble with girls. If anything, maybe _you're_ the one who's having trouble. You did kiss me."

"Hey, I would have kissed you anytime. I even gave up a girlfriend to have sex with you frequently!"

Pete sputtered. He'd forgotten Berg had broken up with that girl for him. It didn't matter, not really. He probably would've broken up with her soon anyway. "Will you please just answer me?"

Berg paused, searching Pete eyes for something Pete wasn't sure he would find. "I..." He sighed, and rolled on his side so he was facing Pete. He reached out and brushed Pete's cheek with his hand, his thumb learning the curve of Pete's lips. "Still sad. But now I've got you."

Pete closed his eyes and let Berg's trembling hands ghost over his face, each touch burning.


	11. I Especially Am Slow

Okay, so maybe they forgot about the wedding.

It wasn't exactly their fault. It was the fault of whoever invented romance. Whoever it was that invented kissing and fucking and being in love shouldn't have made it feel so good. Unfortunately, this was not an excuse they could use on Sharon because she didn't know they were kissing and fucking and being in love with each other. Yet. Besides, Sharon had already chewed them out for not being ready for the wedding, and any excuses, no matter how sincere, weren't getting through to her. She was understandably angry.

"God," Pete muttered under his breath.

Berg cocked his head. "What?"

"I said _God_." Pete pulled on his suit jacket.

"Why?"

"Because if you keep cleaning up so nicely, I think I might lose my mind."

Berg threw his head back and laughed. "Now you know how all the girls feel."

"I have. For seven years."

"Oh right, because you've been crushing on me since highschool."

Pete scoffed. "You say that like you're the innocent one here. If you didn't look so hot, maybe we would be ready by now!"

Berg pulled on a black sock, then slipped on his shoe. "I _am_ ready, Pete."

Pete stuck his tongue out at Berg. Berg batted his eyelashes. Pete scrambled to pull on his socks and shoes, and then stood up, strode over to Berg, and pushed him against the Pillars of Creation on the wall of his bedroom. Berg made a split second of heated eye contact with Pete, then glanced away. Pete pressed his lips to Berg's jaw, ghosting kisses up to his earlobe.

"I swear," Pete whispered. Berg closed his eyes and let a long smile spread across his lips. "When we get back from this wedding, I am going to fuck you."

"Oh! Pete, naughty boy. So vulgar. I'm not sure I can deal with this abrasive new side of you! I may just-- ah, faint," Berg answered in a high, mocking voice. "In fact," he said, switching smoothly to his normal voice. "You seem like you're repressing something. I should be a psychologist. Maybe that's what I'll go to school for next--"

"I'm repressing the urge to take off your clothes and kiss you," Pete whispered, then took a step away from Berg. "But that's neither here nor there. Let's go. Sharon's going to freak if we're not down to her car in half a minute."

Berg made a small, dissatisfied noise. "You were hot for a millisecond there, Pete."

"I'll still be sexually pent-up when we get back from the wedding." Pete extended a hand to Berg and he snatched it. "Come on. I'll hold your hand until the front door."

* * *

The car ride with Sharon was bone-chilling, and not only because it was snowing. She was driving, of course, so it wasn't like they couldn't make excuses about why she wasn't speaking to them, but it was still obvious. Pete and Berg had both been forced into the backseat by her sister's wedding gift, which was never a good sign. Usually she let Pete ride up front and help her navigate. The snow was coming down in thick, wet clumps, and Pete regretted not insisting he navigate for her. It was dangerous on a clear day to have your attention divided between a map and driving; on a day like today, with the visibility so low, it was even worse.

"Sharon?" Pete tried, about fifteen minutes into their hour and a half long drive that was almost guaranteed to feel double the time thanks to that thick tension hanging in the air. "We're sorry. We got really..." He glanced at Berg involuntarily. "Um... Distracted."

She huffed, but didn't speak.

Pete glanced at Berg again, this time much more consciously and with a nervous look on his face.

"We really are sorry, Sharon. It won't happen again," Berg offered.

"Are you implying that my sister is going to get divorced before I immolate you two? Because that's going to be a pretty quick turn around."

Berg grimaced. "No, only saying the next time we all go somewhere me and Pete, we won't be late."

She shook her head and kept driving.

Pete wasn't sure what they could do to try and fix this. It was a clear issue, but there wasn't a clear answer. Maybe bring her flowers. Or buy her something nice. Maybe they could take her out to dinner tomorrow, somewhere really fancy, and be early. She would enjoy that.

Pete wanted to reach over and grab Berg's hand. He was drawn to it, the way moths were drawn to light. Really he was drawn to Berg as a whole, like he had always been. He didn't know if he wanted the comfort of knowledge, the knowing that Berg would wrap his cold fingers around Pete's warm ones, or if he was addicted to Berg's touch (well, that was a no-brainer), but the pull was undeniable. He felt grateful for what little willpower he seemed to have when it came to Berg. He glanced at Berg. Berg made eye contact with him, wiggling his eyebrows in some cryptic message even Pete didn't get.

Sharon. There had to be something he could do to say sorry to Sharon. Other than not be late to things that were important to her. Pete knew, logically, that Sharon would be mad at the forever, but he still wanted to make things right. That's the kind of person he was. He needed things to be okay.

It was a moment or two after the car stopped that Pete's brain realized something wasn't right.

"Sharon?" Berg asked.

She laughed and pressed her forehead to the steering wheel.

"Sharon, are we not going to the wedding?" Berg asked again. "Because I'm not a physicist, but I think we have to be moving to get there."

"Fuck," she answered, then let out a long string of similar (if not more creative) curses. "The car... I think it's stalled. Or stuck. Shit. We're never gonna make it in time now." Then she glanced in the rear-view mirror and narrowed her eyes at them. "Not like we were in the first place."

"Well, what do we do?" Pete asked, then shoved his hands into his pockets. "Dammit. I forgot my phone."

Sharon flipped hers open and shrugged. "Doesn't matter. No signal. Guys, we gotta get my car off the highway. Why did my sister have to chose a winter wedding?"

Berg and Pete opened their doors in sync with each other and went around to the back of the car to try and push it. The snow was blowing everywhere, thicker than when they left the apartment, all getting in Pete's eyes. It was freezing, and Pete started to shiver right away.

"I didn't bring a good enough coat for this," Berg sighed, the cadence of his voice almost completely swallowed up by the howling wind. Their breaths blew out white bits of fog, freezing on contact with the air.

Pete nodded absently, his mind focused on the car. "Ready to push two tons of metal?"

Berg giggled, sounding a little unhinged. "Of course not! We push on one." Pete nodded and placed is hands on the car's tailgate, Berg doing the same, their hands inches apart. Pete tried not to pay attention to that last bit. It was maddening how his mind had become a one-track lane always leading to Berg. It was like driving down a highway that only went to one place, where every street sign was a reminder that he was going there. He wasn't saying he didn't want it to be, exactly, but it could be frustrating if he was trying to get something done and he couldn't even focus on that thing long enough to get a good start.

"Pete?" Berg asked, softly, breaking through his train of thought. "Do you know how to count?"

Pete blinked at Berg through the snow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I got to one, and then you didn't push."

Pete cursed. "Let's just push on now and get it over with," he suggested, and Berg shrugged.

"Works for me."

They both pushed the car, and slowly it began to move, snow crunching under the tires and leaving shaky tred marks. They pushed it until it was mostly off the highway, or at least what they hoped was the highway. The streets hadn't been salted or cleared yet, for some reason, and there was no certain way of telling where the highway exactly ended or began.

"We're lucky there aren't more cars out today," Pete panted when they were finished, leaning against the trunk of the vehicle.

Berg leaned next to him, also breathing hard. "There aren't more cars out today because it's a stupid idea to go out in this weather. Did Sharon's sister just decide not to pay attention to the weather forecasts?"

"Maybe the weather people didn't know. Or maybe she didn't want to postpone her wedding. When I get married--"

Berg wheezed out a laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. At least I've gotten close. But I'll never wanna postpone my date."

Berg tugged Pete's hand slowly of the hood and out of sight of the rear-view mirror and interlaced his fingers through it, then leaned in close enough to whisper, but not too close, not any closer than what they would have done before they were fucking each other, and whispered. "We should plan for spring or fall, then?"

Pete closed his eyes and blushed. "Mmm-- maybe," he said, his voice stuttering and his heart pounding. "If that's-- that's you know, um... we can cross that bridge when we come to it."

Berg squeezed his hand and whispered for him to breathe.

Pete took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and squeezed Berg's hand back. Berg. No reason to be nervous.

"We should probably get inside the car now," Pete suggested. "I think my fingers are getting frostbitten."

Berg sighed dramatically, let go of his hand, and got in the backseat. Pete bit his lip and smiled, following Berg.

"What took you two so long out there?" Sharon asked when they were both back inside. "It looked like you guys were having your own lover's retreat." Berg snorted and Pete elbowed him with a glare.

"We were talking about ma--"

Berg interrupted him. "Fighting. Sharon, we were fighting. Pete thinks it was my fault we were late and I think it was his, and you see where we come to a crossroads. Though, if I were being wise, which I'm not, I would say it is equally our faults because the thing we were distracted with was each other."

Pete elbowed him again, in the ribs. Berg just stuck his tongue out at Pete.

Sharon frowned. "What does that mean?"

"We've been... Oh, God, this is really embarrassing... We've been f--"

"Berg," Pete said, low and warning.

"Fighting. A lot. Every moment we're alone. We've been trying to hide it, cause y'know, we're the best buds, and we don't want to concern people, but it's really hard."

Pete almost laughed, but managed to put a sad face on before Sharon got a good look at him. "Yeah, so Sharon, we're sorry. It's just... like Berg said. Really hard."

Sharon nodded, and sighed. "You know what, I hate myself for saying this, but I understand that. What have you guys been fighting about?"

They glanced at each other, Pete nervous, Berg some indecipherable mix of peeved and smug.

She sighed again, this time more annoyed. "C'mon. I help you two all the time. We're stuck out here for a while, anyway. There can't be anything that different about this argument."

"Um, it's about..." Berg flicked his eyes up and down, then shrugged. "A loaf of bread."

Sharon snorted.

"That's only how it started," Pete added quickly. "Then it was a... girl."

"And now we're generally angry at each other. I wanna fuck him up constantly." Berg glared at Pete, and Pete squashed the laughter bubbling in his throat.

Pete nodded. "The urges are terrible." Berg bit his lip, suddenly looking like he was trying very hard not to explode.

Sharon grinned. "I know! You guys are having a mid-relationship crisis! You two need to make peace with the fact that your relationship is changing. It happens all the time. You just have to find a new way of living with each other that makes both of you happy." Berg glanced at Pete, a smile hidden beneath his fake frown. Pete rolled his eyes, but felt a grin flicker across his mouth anyway. "It sounds like you're fighting about stupid stuff anyway. My best advice is for both of you to just get over it. Suck it up. You don't always have to like each other a lot all the time to be friends."

Pete nodded slowly. "Thanks Shar, that's really good advice. Now, if Berg could just be serious for one second, maybe we could apply it."

Berg let out an over-dramatic sigh. "If you could take me seriously, maybe we could apply it."

"Woah, woah, you guys, you see what's happening here?" Sharon interjected, turning around and waving her hands at them. "Fighting. Again. Like an old married couple. Just shut up for a second, and think about it."

"What's it?" Berg asked.

"I don't know. I'm not your counselor."

So Pete shut up and thought about _it_. The big it. Love. Because was there really anything else? Berg was his sun and stars and everything in between. Pete had spent so long fighting to be in love with people he wasn't in love with. Fighting to find his real passion in life, fighting off the panic that surrounded him somedays. It felt weird to be a normal human being in love with another... well, in love with Berg. He was so in love with Berg. It was abnormal for Pete to feel so settled with someone. So certain. Not like he was sure that Berg was The One he'd end up with, but there was something to their relationship, something he'd never had with anyone before. It was true when they were friends and it was true now, sparkling and fierce and insane; he was _insane_ for thinking like this. They were an oxymoron of a perfect pair. Pete wasn't even sure how they'd been friends for so long. They were too different, but too similar. Berg hadn't even said he loved Pete, except by accident. A slip of the tongue. Pete liked to know things. Liked for them to be certain. And when he was in love, he sang it out. Sometimes literally. It was hard for him to keep it down, to stop himself from being affectionate and romantic and all heart-eyed every chance he got. Berg was romantic too, as Pete had found out. Sweet and soft and gooey. Like a candy that was hard on the outside and sweet and melted on the inside. The kind of sweet that kissed your knuckles and neck and everything else with the same gentleness, right up until it was time to get rough. The kind that was beautiful and elegant and you saw in movies. But he was so good at hiding it, too. He could turn it off and on, or at least that's what it looked like. He was quiet in the ways that he loved, or at least that's how Pete saw it. Not with the girls, but Pete didn't think any of them were love. Not for Berg, anyway.

It wasn't like Pete didn't want him and Berg to work out. He did. Badly. It was hard to stop obsessing over all the things that could go wrong, though. There was so much. Pete knew he would fight to keep them together, if it came to that. He wanted them to work out with a burning sort of passion usually associated with depressed poets and serial killers. He'd probably _be_ a depressed poet or serial killer if it wasn't for Berg. All the stupid shit his best friend/lover pulled reminded him to practice self-care and respect himself and at least attempt to keep it together.

But maybe they would work out, in the end. It was him and Berg, after all. Hadn't they said they could do anything together? Hadn't they made a million yet-to-be fulfilled promises to each other? Hadn't Pete walked across the broken glass of life already to stay by Berg's side? Hadn't Berg done exactly the same? Their relationship had always been tumultuous and intense and scary to most, but at its very roots, it was beautiful. Grown straight from their love for each other, even back when they both though that love was platonic.

"Hey, while you two are thinking I'm gonna go walking and see if I can catch a signal," Sharon said, breaking the silence that had come over the car. "And before you protest, I'm the only one here with a coat on."

Pete started when she spoke. "Um, alright Sharon. Good luck," Pete said, patting the back of her car seat headrest.

Berg just nodded absently, his eyebrows still knitted in thought.

Sharon slid out of the car and closed the door quickly behind her, fighting against the wind. The weather had lightened up a little bit, but the cold was still biting and the snow still falling.

As soon as Sharon was on her way, Berg's face lit up and he turned to Pete. "Hey, Pete, buddy, guess what?"

"What?"

"I think I figured out the solution to America's economic problems!"

Pete frowned. "That was your it?"

He shook his head. "No, my it was that song. The one by Bright Eyes, um..." he cocked his head at Pete as if Pete might know. "Oh! The First Day of My Life! You know it?"

Pete shook his head. "I don't even know who Bright Eyes is."

"I need to show you culture. What's your kink?"

Pete blinked. "Well that was was a 180 on topic. That's what you're focused on right now?"

Berg shrugged, then leaned in close to Pete, only murmuring his next words. "It's all I've been focused on since morning, Pete. Other than America's looming economic crisis."

Pete snorted. "You're ridiculous."

"You say that now, but just wait until we have sex next. If I know your kink..." Berg wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"What if I don't want you to know my kink?"

Berg rolled his eyes and licked Pete's earlobe slowly, letting his tongue trail across Pete's cool skin. "I think you do."

"But if I don't?"

Berg huffed, but was grinning. "We could wait until you're ready."

"What's your kink?"

"You."

Pete laughed. "Really?"

Berg nodded, his lips serious but his eyes glisten with laughter. "Something about the curve of your body. Very arousing."

"I think you're arousing."

"Look at us. Regular club of hot dudes making out."

"We're not making--"

Berg quickly cured that issue, pressing their lips together softly, cupping Pete's head in his hands. Pete followed Berg's lead, threading one of his hands through Berg's silky hair and the other finding its way down to his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss was short, sweet, and intense, the heat between them growing until Pete had to pull away, unless he wanted to get full into the flow of things and have Sharon find them. Berg's cheeks were red and he was grinning again, beautifully. He moved over so he was sitting in Pete's lap, slightly off center, one of his knees in between Pete's legs and the other beside his hip.

"So, Berg," Pete said, brushing the other man's hair with his thumb, "what were you really thinking about?"

"The stuff I said."

"Anything else?"

Berg blinked, glanced away from Pete, then sighed. "You really wanna know?"

"Yeah. If you're okay."

"Yeah. I'm okay. I was... well, I was thinking about love."

Pete smiled broadly. "Me too!"

Berg nodded again, but he had a sickly look on his face, like he'd eaten something too bitter. "I was thinking about before you came into my room. You wanted to know if I loved you too. I guess it's a secret I let slip, but I wanted to tell you that I really do. I love you, Pete. It's scary for me, 'cause I don't... talk about it. I don't know how. But you're not like anyone I've met before." Pete watched Berg carefully; his breathing was shallow and he was pale, but he wasn't back down. In fact, he was hardly even blinking.

"Tell me I'm insane, Pete," Berg said, suddenly. "Just-- tell me I'm batshit already!" His voice was crackly and fragile, and Pete winced. "Tell me there's something wrong with me, take me to a therapist. Take me to a psych ward. We all know I should be in one, I'm crazy, just off my rocker, completely devoid of marbles. Tell them I'm having _delusions_. Delusions of-- grandeur, thinking I can be in love with someone--" Berg closed his eyes tight and shook his head, and looked generally like he was trying very hard not to cry. Pete opened his mouth, but without even opening his eyes Berg reached up and pressed his thumb over Pete's lips. "Someone like you! Have I told you yet I'm crazy? Because I think this is proof, because you're just-- you're so good and kind and sweet, and things... And I love you. Pete, I love you. So much. I can't stop feeling things, like when I was on coke that one time, or something. You gotta help. I think there's something _wrong_ with me. Glued-down wrong with me, maybe permanently."[1]

Pete would've laughed if Berg didn't look so miserable. "Being in love doesn't make you crazy, Berg. I think it makes you brave. Just look at yourself! You so scared you're shaking, but you haven't run away yet. You haven't even tried. You're still here, talking to me, and if you think I'm so great, you should look in the mirror. You're beautiful. And sweet. Maybe not in the way that people think you should be, but you are. I can see it. There's nothing wrong with you for feeling things. And I guess if love does make you crazy, then I'm crazy too. We can be crazy together."

Berg gave Pete a half smile. "But I feel so much. It's like I'm bursting, or... drowning."

"In emotion?"

Berg nodded. Pete cupped his hand around Berg's cheek and pulled him closer. "I can't help you much with that," he murmured. "But I can say that I'll be right here every step of the way. There are much worse things you could be drowning in, if you ask me." Then he kissed Berg, every bit tender and calm.

Berg leaned into the kiss for a moment, the tension easing its way from his body. Suddenly he pulled away, his hands turning what had been a soft touch on Pete's shoulders into a harsh death grip, balling Pet's shirt in his fists. He looked frightened, his face pale and taught.

"Hey, what is it? Sharon?" Pete peered around Berg, but Sharon was nowhere in sight.

Berg shook his head. "I still can't _breathe_. I'm so... oh my God, Pete, I'm so scared of this," he said, collapsing into Pete's chest like a piece of paper, crumpled and thrown. Pete wrapped his arms around the limp, hyperventilating body of Berg, pressing him close to his chest so that he knew he wasn't alone. He would never be alone when he needed someone if Pete could help it. Berg lay on Pete for a while then, breathing. They didn't speak, or kiss, and they weren't even holding hands, but Pete knew that this time was important for Berg. Maybe the way he showed non-sexual love for someone. He'd have to pay attention, see if that was it. He could feel the erratic beat of Berg's heart against his abdomen and the subtle, warm breaths from Berg's mouth hitting his arm. He loved this moment. The feeling of Berg's cheek pressed against his chest. Maybe this is what Heaven would be like. Just him and Berg and nothing else. No interruptions.

Pete was suddenly aware that this is not Heaven. A mercurial silhouette darkened the snow. Sharon. He tapped Berg's head lightly.

"Hey, Berg, Sharon's coming back."

Berg groaned, then wordlessly lifted himself off Pete and scooted back to his side of the back seat.

"We should do that again sometime," Pete said quietly, as if Sharon might somehow hear them. "When we won't be interrupted."

Berg looked at him, eyes still wide, and nodded.

After a moment of silence, Sharon opened the car door and got in, smiling.

"I got us a ride! I called my sister and she said she'll pause the wedding and send cousin Jim out to get us. He's got one of those trucks with the wheels that are good in snow."

"Sweet! Go Sharon!" Berg cheered, mask of confidence reapplied flawlessly in record time.

"Yeah! Way to go!"

"Now we wait," she sighed, then turned around to face them. "So boys, you get anything worked out?"

Pete glanced at Berg, and Berg looked back at him, grinning. "Yeah, I think we did," Pete said, slowly looking over at Sharon.

She nodded, smiling smugly. "I knew you'd work it out. Nothing can beat you two."

Berg elbowed Pete. "See? Nothing can beat us."

"Yeah man," Pete said, laughing and nodding. "Nothing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Bright Eye's "First Day of My Life" (a.k.a the song that Berg was talking about). It post-dates the show by about a year, but it fits the boys so well I couldn't help it!
> 
> 1 "I think there's something wrong with me. Something glued-down wrong with me, maybe permanently." ~ These are lyrics from a The Mountain Goats song called "Answering the Phone". [return to text]


	12. Picture me and then you start watching

When the truck pulled up, Berg shot up from where he had been slumped over and groaning in his seat.

"No one get out of the car!" He shouted. Sharon raised an eyebrow at Pete, but he just shook his head and shrugged.

"Berg, what are you planning?" Sharon asked, but he was already jumping out of the car and pulling open her door. He knelt down with the door open for her and held out a hand to help her out.

"My queen," he said, and she giggled.

"Thanks, Berg," she said, and took his hand.

He ran over to Pete's door, flung it open, and did the same for him.

"My liege," he said, and Pete rolled his eyes and took his hand.

"I am as grateful to thee as if thee had saved mine only child from the consumption," Pete replied, deadpanning. Berg's eye lit up, and he helped him out of the car, squeezing Pete's hand lightly before letting go.

The ride over in Cousin Jim's truck was strange, to say the least. Cousin Jim was a big, beefy man with a long, tangled beard and a deep voice that rumbled like an earthquake. The truck fit the man, and was the loudest thing Pete had heard since he'd snuck onto the chopper to keep Berg from running away to Canada. The engine sounded like it could give out completely at a moment's notice, and he might have been more worried if they hadn't just come off a car that already stopped.

"Ya know, I haven't seen you since your folks got a divorce," Jim said, glancing at Sharon. He spoke with an accent that didn't sound one bit like Sharon, something Midwestern and casual. It made the word divorce sound more like _dee-verse._

"Yeah," Sharon shrugged. "I've been busy keeping these two in line." She threw a thumb back at Berg and Pete.

Berg gasped and threw his hand over his forehead. "I can't believe you would even insinuate that I am anything like the man sitting beside me! The nerve!"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "You see what I'm dealing with?"

Cousin Jim snorted. "Yep. I know a kid like him in Jeff City, Missouri, goes to the high school. Part of the drama department. You ever act in anything, trouble?" He asked, nodding to Berg from the rearview mirror.

"Only real life, sir," Berg answered, elbowing Pete. "To get under Pete's skin."

"And pick up women," Sharon added, and Berg paused.

"Oh! Right, I do that."

Pete snorted. "You forgot that you're constantly horny? What kind of stuff did you lift from the hospital this time?"

"Just some weed. And horse tranquilizers."

Cousin Jim laughed at that. "They got weed at a hospital?"

"Only ours!" Berg announced happily, looking out the window.

The rest of the drive was quiet enough. Cousin Jim asked Sharon a few more questions, the typical over-interested relative interrogation, and Berg made another comment or five about whatever off-hand thing had popped into his head while they were speaking. The conversation gradually drifted into silence after Berg made an overly-perceptive comment about a button on the shoulder of Cousin Jim's jacket, and Pete was thankful. He wanted some quiet time to process all the stuff Berg had said when they were alone together, in the car. He was scared.

Berg, conqueror of all public acts no matter how embarrassing, was _scared_.

Of love. Of being loved. All those acts that came with the love. If Pete was being honest, he understood. Love could be a scary thing, especially if you expected people not to love you back or to hurt you. He wondered if Berg'd been hurt before, wondered if that was why he was so scared. Pete had never really had his heart broken. His history with love was emotional, complicated, and filled with mountains and valleys, but it didn't hurt to think about. He had usually been the one doing the breaking up, and even when a girl had broken up with him, he'd known it was time. But Berg? As long as Pete had known him, all he'd done was short relationships and bright bursts of lust. Until Pete himself. Until now. Now wasn't even a valid argument yet, because they hadn't lasted more than a few days. Yet. They would though. Pete could feel it in his bones, see it when he looked into Berg's chocolate-colored eyes.

* * *

When they got to the wedding venue, a little Gothic church, Cousin Jim pulled up to the front sidewalk and unlocked the doors.

"You all can head on in, I gotta park Cindy. I'll see you three in five."

"Alright, Cousin Jim. Thanks for picking us up," Sharon said, grabbing her gift and smoothing her hair.

"No problem, kids."

They got out of the car. The snow was lighter down here. It was fluffy and floated down from the sky serenely, only moving quickly when the wind bounced it about. Berg stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the grey sky, watching the snow fall. Pete walked up next to him, cautious and quiet, as if he didn't want to disturb some wild creature. Berg really was kind of a wild animal, he thought. There wasn't any getting close to him if he didn't want you close to him, and he acted in ways that sometimes even Pete, the leading expert on Berg, couldn't predict.

Berg turned to Pete. "Pretty, right?" Like that. Pete hadn't ever realized Berg liked the snow, or even thought about it.

"Gorgeous," Pete replied, staring evenly at Berg.

Berg visibly bit back a small smile and looked back up at the sky. Pete followed his lead.

* * *

The wedding ceremony was stunning. Beautiful. As though they were made of glass, each member of the processional glided down the aisle, until it was the bride's turn, her white white white lace dress fluttering thanks to drafts that littered the old building. Her heels clicked on the stone of the floor, and her smile was brighter than stars. Unlike those who came before her, she wasn't looking around at the pews, saying hi to her family or her soon to be family-in-law, or her friends, all she was doing was looking at the groom. That guy who stood, now straighter than before, next to the officiant, smiling right back at her. Sharon gripped Pete's arm all of a sudden, and Pete heard a small sniffle.

The bride made her way to the altar and giggled. It would have been a quiet noise if the room wasn't silent.

The officiant started their long speech, and Pete tuned out. Instead, he turned to Berg. Berg's eyes were crystal with unshod tears, Pete was surprised to see, and he was smiling softly. His cheeks were brushed with rose.

"Berg," Pete whispered, and Berg glanced at Pete.

"Yeah?"

Pete bit his lip. Berg raised an eyebrow. Then Pete leaned in really close, so he could be sure only Berg could hear what he was about to say. "I'm glad you're here with me."

Berg quirked his lips a little to the left. "I'm glad you're here with me too, buddy."

* * *

The reception of the wedding commenced about two hours after they arrived, and it was held in a large ballroom not too far from the church. The ballroom was decorated extravagantly, lots of lace and deep jewel tones everywhere. Sharon's sister had changed into a dress she could dance in, a short one with a skater skirt, and the bridesmaids had followed suit. Everyone was dancing, and there was full buffet (quickly being mowed down by the father of the groom and Cousin Jim, who seemed to hit it off pretty well from Pete's perspective). Sharon was chatting up the groom while he was dancing with Sharon's sister. He looked absolutely full of joy, if not in over his head with Carters. Everything felt to Pete like it was covered in the kind of soft focus you get from 80s tv, and Berg was grinning his best shit-eating grin, and Pete thought that Berg might be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Still in his suit and tie. He looked even more fuckable than he had in the bedroom before they left, and if not kissing him right then and there wasn't a testament to Pete's will he wasn't sure what was.

"Hey," Berg said, turning to look at Pete. Pete jumped, and Berg laughed softly. It was the kind of laugh that Berg didn't do very often, musical and intimate. "You wanna dance? We can make it look like we're normal friends or something."

Pete let a small smile dance over his lips for a moment. "Alright. Whatever you say," he replied, quietly.

Berg took his hand, and they danced to the song that was playing. It was energetic, with a pumping beat, and they danced fearlessly together, always half touching. Holding onto one another's arms or shoulder or some other body part that friends could hold onto. After a minute the song switched to something slow. Pete glanced up at Berg.

"Can we make this look platonic?"

Berg shrugged. "Sure."

They slowed down their movements, got just close enough to cast doubt on the idea of being friends, and Pete found himself unable to stop smiling. The heat from Berg's body rolling off as they swayed together. The world melted away, which seemed to fit with the song. " _There's nothing you and I won't do,_ " Berg sang along, looking into Pete's eyes. Pete felt as he should be blushing, or telling Berg to stop, because it was ridiculously obvious that Berg was singing to him, but he didn't have the heart. There was something new and pure in Berg's face, in the way he was singing along. " _I'll stop the world and melt with you,_ " Berg pronounced, and Pete wanted to kiss him. Hold him. Tell him he was perfect and he had nothing to be scared of.

Instead, he kept his distance and smiled, slowly moving in time with Berg. If this was as perfect as they could be right now, it was perfect enough.

"You're so sweet," he whispered under the music.

"Thank you," Berg mouthed, and squeezed Pete's waist.

After that song was finished, the lights turned on and Sharon's sister instructed them all to head over to the adjoining room for a proper dinner and a joint toast from the best man and maid of honor.

They followed the crowd. Sharon was seated next to them, thank goodness, at a table with the newlyweds, Sharon's parents, the groom's father, and the best man and maid of honor. There were already plates of food set out in front of them, and Berg immediately tried to dig in, but Sharon lightly stabbed him with her fork.

"We have to wait for the speech," she hissed to him, gesturing to the maid of honor and best man, who were standing up and exchanging whispers and index cards.

Berg grinned sheepishly and sat still.

"We welcome you here today to celebrate the holy union of Emma and Harry Plank, two of our best friends," started the maid of honor. She had dark auburn hair and was grinning her teeth off.

"They are perhaps the most dangerous couple I know," the best man chimed in, glancing at Harry with glinting eyes. The crowd laughed. "The night Emma and Harry met each other, I remember it was a birthday party for Emma's lovely sister," he pointed to Sharon, who smiled and waved. "And they were talking, really hitting it off, and Harry swung his hand and hit Emma's wine glass out of her hand, throwing it all the way across the room, and it hit me in the cheek!" The crowd laughed again. Berg grabbed Pete's hand, suddenly. Pete gave him a look. Berg returned it, grinning. "I still got a scar from it. See, right above my jaw bone," the best man said, turning to face the crowd and pointing to the scar.

"Oh, I have a great story," the maid of honor said, glancing at her index cards. "They really are quite dangerous to be around. We were going on a double date at the movies, Emma and Harry and me and one of my exs, and Harry had offered to pick up popcorn for all of us. Of course we agreed, because movie theater popcorn is such a jacked up price, but when Harry was walking back with it, he had so many boxes that he nearly dropped them on us all. Luckily, Emma was there to help him. She caught one of the boxes, but when she did a piece of popcorn flew out of the box and got lodged in my throat! I nearly choked to death, but luckily for all of us Emma is also a doctor and was able to save me."

The crowd let out a polite laugh.

"Anyway, we wanted to give them this toast," the best man said.

Then the two spoke together, in time perfectly. "We know your love is worth all the near-death experiences it causes. To Emma and Harry!" They chimed their champagne flutes together, and then the crowd did the same. Pete and Berg did, and Sharon stretched around Berg so she and Pete could as well.

The rest of the reception went smoothly, and Pete was tuned out for most of it. They ate, and the bride and groom said somethings about love, or something like that. The food was nice.Pete couldn't have cared less. Usually he was all for weddings, but today had been such a long day and he had spent so much of it trying to focus. It was cold outside. He was tired. He wanted to curl up with Berg under some heavy, soft covers and sleep it off. Sleep some time away. Maybe Berg would wanna do the same when they were home. God, home sounded good right now.

It felt like hours by the time everyone was getting up, and Sharon was asking them if they could take a cab home.

"I'd ask Cousin Jim to drive you home, but he's staying here with me to drive me to my car tomorrow, when the snow should be done with. Sorry guys. I know I dragged you all the way out here."

"It's alright, Sharon," Berg assured her, and she nodded.

"Sweet! I'll see you two in a day or so!" She kissed them both on their cheeks, then ran away to find Cousin Jim.

Berg turned to Pete. "You look ready to pass out."

"I am ready to pass out."

"Let's get a cab." Berg grabbed Pete by the arm and gently lead him outside.

"Does Cape Cod even have cabs that'll drive us to Boston?"

Berg shrugged. "If we pay enough."

The wind outside was abrasive and cold, like before, though the snow had stopped. Pete shivered, so Berg drew their bodies close together. Not quite hugging, but definitely touching. Pete looked at Berg, but he was too tired to say anything about it. Everything would be fine. It was explainable. Berg dialed the number of a cab company he inexplicably knew by heart (was it all the one-night stands? Or did he predict they would need it today? Pete thought either was plausible, but it was probably the one-night stands).

"Hello, yeah, I'm on 64th street. How much would a cab to Boston be?" Berg listened for a minute, then grimaced. "Alright. Fine. Just two. No, me and my..." Berg's eyes flicked to Pete. "My boyfriend." Pete heard some muffled shouting. "No, miss, please-- Listen, I'll pay ten extra. Alright. Yes. Yeah, 64th. Little weird church."

Berg hung up the phone and blinked at Pete. "She was not very nice," he said. Pete wanted to ask him what happened.

"You ever think about why they called it Cape Cod?" Pete asked instead, leaning deeper into the crook of Berg's shoulder.

"In like, the 1600s, there was guy named Bartholomew Gosnold, which is what I think we should name our children, and he was impressed by how much cod there was. So he started calling it Cape Cod."

Pete snorted. "No."

"No? You disagree with my superior knowledge of history?"

"No. I disagree with calling any child ever, but particularly ours, Bartholomew or Gosnold. How did you even know that? Did you swallow an encyclopedia?"

Berg shrugged for the second time in five minutes. "I did some reading on this place before we came here. Just light stuff."

"How many hours?"

"You think I keep track of time?"

Pete shook his head. "Fair enough. Tell me something you found out."

"There was a woman found in the Race Point dunes in the 70s. Both her hands were cut off, and part of one of her arms, and she was almost completely decapitated. No one knows who she is, or who killed her."

Pete frowned. "That's not exactly what I meant, Berg..."

Berg smiled at him. "But it's the only thing I researched, other than the history of this place."

"Did you try and figure out who killed her?"

Berg mimed swooning. "Oh! You know me so well, Mr. Dunville."

Pete laughed. "I would have to, wouldn't I?"

A bright yellow taxi pulled up in front of them, and a grumpy-looking old lady stuck her head out the window. "Get in, kids."

They filed into the backseat while the lady glared at them.

"So, Pete, how do you feel about our very gay relationship?"

Pete snorted. The lady rolled her eyes. "I like it a lot, thank you for asking," Pete said, playing along. As they pulled away from the church, he wrapped his arm around Berg's shoulders, and Berg kissed his cheek lightly.

"It feels good to touch you again," Berg murmured.

"Mhmm. You too."

They rode mostly in silence, the driver occasionally asking them which turn to take once they got back into Boston. An hour and a half of pissing off a homophobe later, Pete and Berg got out and tumbled into the apartment building, then into their apartment, and then into each other's arms; Berg, falling backwards over the arm of the couch and taking Pete down with him, kissing each other ferociously on the lips, no holds barred. Berg hands wandered and so did Pete's, albeit less so. Breathless lips against each other, chests brushing as they heaved, legs wrapping around the other's body. It felt good. Warm, like so little of their very long day had been.

Eventually, they stopped kissing and just lay next to each other. Pete closed his eyes and laid his cheek against Berg's surprisingly-still-clothed chest.

"If we sleep in our clothes tonight, can I pull yours off tomorrow and fuck you?"

Berg laughed. "Yeah."

"Promise?"

"I promise, mon petit chou."

Pete lifted his head up to look at Berg. "What?"

Berg grinned. "Tryin' stuff out. A French term of endearment."

"Mmm." Pete lay his head back down and closed his eyes, and felt himself drift down into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the song "Ceremony" by New Order, and the song Berg sings along to is called "I Melt With You" by Modern English. The latter holds a special place in my heart because the first concert I ever went to was a Modern English one!
> 
> The spell checker I use doesn't count "fuckable" as a word, so I had to look it up on the Google dictionary because I am a curious kitty, and the Ngram viewer (that shows the usage of a word over time, when you hit the expand button on the definition) is inexplicably the funniest thing I've seen all day.
> 
> Also, fun fact: "Mon petit chou" literally translates to "my small cabbage." It felt like a very Berg-worthy thought to know that, and then decide to use it for someone he cared about. :)


	13. Forever (and maybe then some)

With morning came a hastily-made breakfast of eggs and bitter coffee. Pete and Berg were standing around their kitchen counter, making asinine observations a day late about the wedding party. Still in their wedding clothes, rumpled from sleep, they looked a lot like two disgruntled grooms, left at the altar and complaining about it to each other. Or at least, that's what an onlooker may have thought. But there were no onlookers, and it was too early for either of them to be caring about how they looked on the off chance that someone _were_ to burst into their apartment.

If you ruled out that interpretation, there was something simple about the whole scene, something domestic. Two guys standing across a counter from one another and eating breakfast and talking. Drinking coffee. Their conversation was borderline flirtatious, if you took it that way. You'd be silly not to. Throwing remarks back at each other like they'd been doing this for years, which they had.

As normal as the whole thing was for them, the calmness of the moment felt weird to Pete's head, like he was peaking in at a different reality. Weird, but not bad. He could get used to this.

"Why're we keepin' stuff from Sharon again?" Pete asked, his voice slurred with sleep.

Berg blinked groggily. "Don't know. Never really talked about it."

"Maybe we should tell her. She is our best friend."

"I'm surprised she doesn't know already. She makes so many jokes." Pete nodded, but his eyes were distant, lost in his own thoughts. "I mean, in hindsight we've been acting like we were fucking each other since we met. The fact that she hasn't said anything is just evidence. But..." Berg caught Pete's eyes. "I suppose when you lend someone your shirt on the first date, all bets are off."

Pete snorted. "That was _not_ our first date."

"Yeah, right."

"We weren't dating then! It wasn't a date."

"We may not have been dating yet, but we sure fucked around with each other a lot. Or should I say, fucked each other a lot."

"Only when we were drunk."

"Counts."

"Does not."

"Totally does. It counts so much. Were you fucking anyone other than me?"

Pete rolled his eyes. "You know I wasn't. But we were definitely more friends-with-benefits then. I don't even remember half of what we did with each other." Pete paused, then leaned forward and wiggled his eyebrows, dropping his voice down low. "Were _you_ fucking anyone else?"

Berg batted his hand at Pete. "Pfhhhh! Silly Pete. You know me."

"I do know you, that's why I'm asking."

"Rude!"

"Were you?"

Berg looked at the ceiling. "No."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "For re-"

"Not because no one wanted to fuck me!" Berg added quickly, waving a finger in Pete's face. "I told myself, 'Michael Bergen, you are not going to have sex with anyone else as long as you are getting drunk on weekends with your best friend, because that's not what best friends do to each other. Best friends are exclusive if we haven't had a conversation about it.' You have no idea how hard it was, Pete!"

Pete smiled softly. "You didn't want to have sex with anyone but me? That's actually really sweet, Berg." He walked slowly around the counter and pressed himself up against Berg's back, aligning his penis with the space between Berg's butt cheeks. He felt rays of pleasure shine through him, felt himself get hard. Berg shivered and made a little gasping noise, then winced like someone had just slapped him. Pete wrapped his arms around Berg's shoulders and ground his crotch up against Berg.

"Pete," Berg moaned. His voice sounded strange, Pete guessed because before now Berg had been the one doing the ravishing. Pete was always the helplessly turned on one.

"Berg," Pete whispered back, his voice amazingly steady. He felt like he should be scared taking charge for the first time, but he wasn't.

"Please," Berg moaned again, breathy. He still sounded strange, though. Off. Not right. "Not-- stop."

Pete took a step away from Berg's back. "I'm sorry," he said, after a minute. "What's going on?"

Berg turned around to face him, bracing himself against the counter with his hands. They were clenched so tight around the edge of it that Berg's knuckles were white. So was his face, like he was about to pass out. His eyes were wide and fearful. Pete frowned. He didn't want Berg to look like that. Ever. Berg blinked and took a shaky breath in.

"Do you want to be the top? Because that's okay, I just thought switching it up might be fun. But whatever makes you comfortable... baby."

The fear left Berg's face when he heard the name Pete had picked. He managed a shaky giggle. "Baby?" It was like he'd suddenly remember he was talking Pete, his best friend, not some monster of a person who was ready to gobble him up.

Pete shrugged. "You called me a cabbage."

"You know French?"

"I know how to use your French to English dictionary while you're passed out."

Berg shook his head. "Touché, Dunville."

They looked at each other in silence for a moment, still awkward even after all this time. After all the things they'd done with each other. Berg looked at Pete, sweet, wide hazel eyes staring into smaller, glittering ones, about the color of the coffee they'd been drinking.

"So," Pete started, at the same time Berg said: "I can't have sex with you."

"What?" Berg asked.

"No, you go first."

"Um. I can't have sex with you."

"Why? Did I do something wrong? Can I fix it?"

"It's not... you. It's me."

Pete's eye widened. "Are you breaking up with me? Please don't do that. Please. I swear whatever you need, I can make it happen, I don't care, just tell me what you want. I'm sorr--"

"Don't apologize, Pete. It's me, Berg. Madly..." He took another shaky breath in. "Madly in love with you. If I ever break up with you, it's not me. Someone would have to be wearing a mask of my face or something."

Pete smiled gently. "Mask of your face, huh?"

Berg nodded, and looked at the ground.

"So... why can't we have sex?"

"Too scared. Body feels like it's dying when you touch me. Heart goes all weird."

Pete reached out to touch Berg's shoulder, but Berg flinched away before he could make contact. "Sorry, I just can't right now," Berg murmured, screwing his eyes shut. He took in a shallow, noisy breath.

"No, I should be apologizing. I shouldn't touch you without asking." Then Pete's face lit up. "Oh my God, Berg, I know what's happening! You're having a panic attack."

Berg'e eyes grew wide, and then he promptly slid down the counter and deposited himself on the ground. "No."

"No?"

"I refuse. Don't want a panic attack."

"You're wheezing, on the edge of tears, and your senses are overstimulated."

That sent Berg straight off the edge of tears, and he started to cry. A little bit at first, and then all at once in big, heaving sobs. Pete sat down a foot or two away from Berg and kept quiet.

"I don't get panic attacks," Berg choked out, through his parade of tears, and Pete nodded.

"I know, my buddy."

It was awhile before Berg stopped crying and lifted his head up. His eyes were red and the skin around the was puffy. His cheeks were streaked with reflective lines of salt water, and he was shaking. But he was still in one piece, and that piece was looking at Pete with big, pleading eyes.

"Why? Why is this happening to me? I don't wanna not have sex with you."

"I think this love thing really does freak you out. Like you said yesterday. You're scared. Maybe we just need to wait. Talk. Figure out what's going on with you. Then we can resume our previous activities."

Berg pouted. "I don't wanna wait to fuck you senseless."

Pete snorted. "I guess we could try and talk it out now, then."

Berg patted the floor next to him and Pete scooted over. "Okay. Let's talk it out."

"Alright. Why are you afraid of love?"

Berg was silent for a few minutes. "I think... I'm not sure. But maybe I'm scared of you not wanting me anymore. Like, everything has an end, right? I'm scared of that. I don't want this to end. I don't want you to stop... loving me. I don't want to stop pissing off homophobes with you. I don't want to stop waking up next to you, or in your arms. I don't want to stop having really shit breakfasts while we talk about stupid stuff. I don't even want anything but you. For once in my life, with you, I think I've found out where I was meant to be. I feel settled. You know me, so you know feeling like I am where I'm meant to be is a big deal. It means something is really right in my life. And that right thing is you. So when you stop loving me, I'm not sure what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna come apart. And that... is just so scary." Berg paused to take a long, deep breath. "You see, Pete, before I knew you... I think it was sophomore year... I had a lot of problems. I mean, you know about my drinking. You were there with me for that. But back in sophomore year, I was insane. I would've been bouncing off the walls if I was ever present enough to know where the fucking walls were. I was high on pot a lot of the time, sometimes harder stuff. I never wanna go back down that far. But I'm so scared that losing you would drive me there. I did it 'cause I was scared of everything. I couldn't _sleep_ without weed or alcohol. And you... you make me brave. You make me wonderful, and alive, and funny, and you are so so good, and without you, without your love, I don't know where I'd be. Somewhere shitty, probably. A ditch off the side of the highway, or a fucking... dive bar in Vegas."

Pete smiled softly. "I didn't know I meant that much to you."

"You were never supposed to find out."

"I can't believe... you really had anxiety problems when you were younger?"

Berg almost laughed. "They called me Bothered Berg because I was always so jumpy."

"Is that where you got Berg?"

He smiled. "Nah. That was from a girl I was friends with when I was a kid. She started calling me Berg, and it just caught on. It grew on me after a while, so I kept it."

"So why do you act so confident all the time?" Pete asked, and Berg leaned into his boyfriend's chest, burying himself in the soft white fabric of Pete's button down.

"Isn't it obvious?" Berg snarked. "One of my biggest fears is people knowing how scared I am."

"Mmm," Pete nodded, and wrapped his arms around Berg. "That okay?"

"Yeah," Berg answered, and let them sit in silence a bit before speaking again. "I wanna tell you something else," Berg said, drawing himself into a sitting position. "I don't want you to feel obligated to stay with me because of this. I know it's really hard to be someone's lifeline. So don't feel like you owe me or something. If you want to leave, when you fall out of love with me, don't hold on too long. Don't draw it out."

Pete nodded. "Okay. I won't, I promise. But what makes you think I'm the one who's going to fall out of love with you? Both boys and girls have been falling over themselves trying to get you to stay with them since before I knew you."

"Because I'm just... I'm me. I don't think anyone, not even someone as good as you..." Berg frowned, then shook his head. " _Particularly_ not someone as good as you could love me for more than a few years, tops."

"What do you mean, Berg? You are you. That's what I love. You'll be you forever, so I'll love you that long." _And then some._ Pete's heart urged him to add, but he didn't. It was scary to say you'd love someone forever, and maybe that was enough fear for now.

"Right." Berg laughed uneasily. "Totally. It's not like I'm a complete monster or something. I'm just a normal person. Sure."

Pete sighed. "Berg, you're not a monster. You are the one who made you wonderful, alive, and funny."

"I don't think so. I wasn't any of those things before I met you."

"That doesn't mean they're not _yours_. Maybe I helped you see how wonderful, alive, and funny you already were. Maybe it was a coincidence that you got wonderful, alive, and funny around the time we met. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe you just need to accept that you are perfect and beautiful and I love you."

Berg's face softened at that. "Maybe so," he hummed, pressed a kiss into Pete's neck.

"You're not a monster."

"Maybe."

"You're not even that mean."

"Maybe."

"How do you feel now?"

Berg paused, and looked up at Pete. "I..." He shook his head. "I don't know, Pete. I love you, though. I really, really love you. Thanks for being alive."

"I love you too, my little treasure." Pete blinked, and glanced at Berg. "Is that better? Baby was a little..."

Berg laughed, and threw his arms around Pete, pulling him close. "Whatever you wanna call me is okay, _mon chou."_

Pete smiled and pressed a kiss into the crook of Berg's neck. "Alright, dipshit."

"Wow, my boyfriend is so mature," Berg said, giggling. Eventually it dissolved into hysterical laughter, and Pete started laughing too, and then they were toppled over on the floor, just laughing. It felt good. As much as he loved having deep conversations with Berg, he might love laughing with him more. It made him feel whole inside. Like he was exactly where he should be, right along with Berg. Maybe this didn't have to end, ever. Maybe it would a constant thing until their deaths. Maybe it would defy all logic about the world, the way that some marvelous things did, you know? Keep growing on, way past when all the realists who walk the earth say it should be done with.

That would be nice. It would be beyond nice, really.


	14. ghosts and clouds and nameless things

Pete was dozing on the couch after a long day of classes when Berg got home. The sky was light, though that lightness was fading into a sunset, and Berg hung up his jacket and sat down on the arm of the couch, gazing down at Pete, his face soft. Pete smiled, feeling his insides warm up.

"Nice to see you, mon chou," Berg said, his voice gentle with exhaustion.

"Nice to see you too, treasure. How are you feeling about touching? I could use a Berg cuddle today, but if you're still anxious we don't have to."

Berg's face went pensive, and he stared out the window for a few moments. Pete analyzed the curves of his nose, how it blended seamlessly into his forehead, how pretty it was, how his eyebrows were thick and dark and soft. His brown eyes flicked back to Pete. "I'm..." He searched Pete's face, looking for the words. Pete waited patiently. He wouldn't judge Berg no matter which way he felt. Pete had had one too many experiences with being an anxious mess on the wrong side of a bathroom door to even come close. Berg shook his head suddenly. "I can't do it. I'm really sorry, Pete, I don't know what's wrong with me. We haven't had sex in almost four days! I can't do it. I don't know why. I hate myself, I hate this funk I'm in. There must be something really wrong with me, right? I love you. I love you so much. I didn't know I could love people before I loved you. I didn't know I could be happy before I loved you. I'm..." Berg let out a long, distressed breath. "I'm so sorry."

Pete sat up and turned around so he could properly face Berg. "Listen, Berg. Do you remember when I had my panic attack, and then we fought because I wouldn't tell you why I ran away from you and into the bathroom?"

Berg nodded. "Clear as day."

"Things are different between us now. Clearly. I'm not going to hate you because you don't want to touch me for extended periods of time. You don't need to apologize to me. I love you too, and that's..." He laughed shortly. "It's not gonna change if I can help it."

Berg nodded again, then got off the arm of the couch and sat down next to Pete, curling his legs up comfortably. "Let's talk."

Pete raised his eyebrow. "I can't believe I just heard those words come out of your mouth."

Berg rolled his eyes and grinned. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of saying that. I never thought I would say it, maybe that's why."

"That's really nice, Berg. I'm really happy that we're together. I want to shout it from the rooftops, you know? I want to serenade you all the time."

"Me too, honestly. I'm amazing at keeping secrets, but this isn't a secret I want to keep anymore." Pete smiled.

"Does that mean we should maybe tell Sharon?"

Berg blinked. "No."

"Why not?"

He rested his head in his hands and looked down at the floor. "I don't know. I'm just scared."

Pete clenched his fists, though he wasn't angry. He just wanted to be able to do something for Berg, help him somehow. It was frustrating not being able to. "Do you want to go to a therapist or something? I'll go with you, if you want."

Berg shook his head. "I think I'm just gonna go to bed. I'll think about it tomorrow, maybe."

"Alright," Pete said, leaning back against the couch. "Hope you feel better in the morning."

"Me too. Thanks, buddy."

Pete closed his eyes and hoped real hard, let himself sink into the dusk that was piling up around Boston like papers at a desk job, he let himself go. He couldn't do anything for Berg. It hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry it has been a long time since I posted, and that this is short. I'm having a lot of trouble lately with figuring out what I'm doing with my life (particularly school-wise), so that's been taking up most of my brain power. I also have about three other writing projects (two of which are for this fandom, I'll have them posted soon!) that I'm working on quite intensely, and time management has never been my forté.
> 
> The chapter title and line "... closed his eyes and hoped real hard." are both lyrics from the Mountain Goat's song "Maybe Sprout Wings", which is also going to inspire the next chapter. The songwriter for the Mountain Goats said that "This song is about drinking your own helplessness." I thought that fit well with what Pete's going through about now, and the song was stuck in my head anyway XD


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